


Wait and Hope

by Blue_Finch



Series: For Better or Worse [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes good things fall apart, so better things can fall together.”<br/>― Jessica Howell<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harold Finch

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in this story, except what sprung from my own imagination.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's happened to Harold Finch. Who is he now?
> 
> This chapter turned out way longer than I wanted but Finch's new identity had to be fleshed out a little.
> 
>  Wait and Hope now on Live Journal
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/5617.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo credit to my beta managerie

 

 

Harrington James Furnham, III; Harry, to the handful of people that had cared enough or been allowed to get close to the reticent middle-aged resident of the upper floor of the aging brownstone; paused at the landing looking upwards.

Harry tried to brace himself for the pain in his hip that would worsen with every step he climbed until he reached his apartment door. He blinked several times, swallowed heavily and sighed, trying not to think of the time he had fought to be able to even walk again. And Harry had walked and climbed stairs and....

But that was in another life best forgotten. One in which that Harry had spent his entire adulthood dwelling in the shadows, not unlike the Harry now.  The Harry before had had great success, many names, and many identities, all the while content to let another bask in the sunlight. And epic failures, those the troubled man had placed solely on himself. But for those thirty odd years, regardless the circumstances, he had lived. Now, with everyone, everything that had truly mattered gone, all Harry did was exist.

Chiding himself mentally for stalling and dwelling on something he could never change, Harrington leaned his plain wooden cane against the wall and set his worn leather briefcase alongside it. He bent over to unclasp the leash from his service dog's collar. It had become a habitual and almost necessary routine. Cane over his right forearm, briefcase in that hand, with his left hand on the railing he would pull himself up one step at a time. On good days the dog would bound up the stairs and wait patiently on the landing by the apartment door. But as most days were far from good anymore, the dog would make the slow climb with Harrington, a solid presence at the man's side.

It was a bit of a surprise when the dog did neither, but instead padded hurriedly over to the opening apartment door of the lower unit. Harrington's downstairs neighbor was a middle-aged widow and though not much older than himself had decided on that first day months ago Harry had needed mothering and she would be the one.

~*~

Harold had found the apartment with the address listed on the driver’s license belonging to one Harrington Furnham that had been included in the envelope. It had been late that night after countless cab rides all over the city before he'd had decided, or had hoped, no one or nothing was tracking him. He had given another taxi driver the address, paid the man upon arriving, and entered his new home and new life. In spite of the pain in his shoulder he had collapsed, fully clothed, on the simple but serviceable single bed in the one tiny bedroom and fallen into a fitful sleep.

That sleep was nightmare after nightmare filled with everything that had happened in Finch's life the weeks before as his world went to hell. When Harold awoke covered in sweat he looked around hoping to be in the hotel room in Washington, D.C., John sleeping by his side. However, the searing pain in his shoulder and the light brightening the room from the morning sun, was a gut clenching reminder that the nightmares were real; he wasn't in a hotel room, John Reese was gone, everyone and everything Finch had known were gone.

Harold shed his suit jacket and pants; vest, shirt and neck tie in the tiny bathroom before showering and then treating his shoulder as best he could. Finch had thrown on the worn terrycloth bathrobe hanging from an old metal hook screwed into the bathroom door and padded barefoot back into the tiny bedroom.

Opening each drawer in the old wooden chest of drawers standing next to the closet door and adjacent but only an arm's length from the single bed, Harold had found brown, dark blue or black dress socks, plain white crew neck undershirts and two weeks’ worth of no nonsense solid colored cotton boxers. Certainly nothing fancy or pricey, just name brand underclothing that could be purchased at any department store anywhere in the country.

A look inside the closet at clothing hanging from the elongated u-shaped bars revealed the same thing. Although nothing was threadbare or worn out−some of the suit jackets and sweater vests still had the price tags on them even−there again was nothing that would identify the owner.There were button up shirts both long-sleeved and short of various lighter colors hanging neatly on dry cleaner hangers at the right rear and on the bar by the wall opposite, a neat row of slacks, khakis mainly, in various hues of dark colors, blues, browns or blacks.

In a five drawer bureau with an old opaque looking mirror against the wall with the bedroom door Harold found faded blue jeans, sweatpants, old tee shirts and sweatshirts with NYCU printed on them and some polo shirts. The kind of clothes Harold had worn long ago....

Checking one of the smaller drawers he found four god-awful clip-on bow ties, several solid darker colored ties among some odd print ones, but that was all. In another were monogrammed white handkerchiefs kept in one’s pocket for use. No decorative pocket squares anywhere. In the tray on the bureau top meant for keeping a man’s accessories were two sets of cufflinks with matching tie clips, one set gold, one silver, and both perfect imitations. There was a plain gold band wrist watch and from what Harold could tell, a real gold wedding band.

After having resigned himself to wearing the clothing of Harrington Furnham, Harold sat back on the bed, dressed in a pair of the well-worn jeans and a polo shirt. He picked up the manila envelope that he'd tossed on the nightstand before collapsing on the bed the night before and dumped its contents onto the rumpled spread.

There was what was left of the money, having spent hundreds of it riding around in cabs for eight hours, the driver's license, another set of keys, and a small piece of paper with 'look in the file box on the closet shelf' scribbled on it.

But when Harold had stood intending to grab the metal box he'd noticed earlier, Bear appeared at the doorway, head hung low and whining. Harold could have kicked himself, he had been so wrapped up in his own misery, he’d completely forgotten about their dog. Harold picked up a worn pair of knock off Adidas instead, sat back down on the bed and put them on. Heading for the front door, Bear at his heels, Harold grabbed the dog's leash off the arm of a clean but aged overstuffed couch where he vaguely remembers dropping it the night before. Not expecting the weather to have warmed up much from the previous day, Harold pulled on an old blue woolen navy pea coat that was hanging on a standing wooden rack.

Once Harold and the dog had descended the stairs, they headed out the back door of the unit. Checking his pocket once for his set of keys, he closed the door behind him and bent as low as he could to attach the leash to Bear's collar, before both of them stepped down a set of cracked concrete steps. There was a small fenced in area that had been a small yard with green grass at one time but was now nothing but browned weeds. An overfilled trash dumpster was pushed up against the wall of the brownstone between the fence of his unit and the one surrounding the equally neglected yard for the apartments attached to theirs. 

Promising Bear that they would find a park near by tomorrow to do their exercise properly, they walked up to the end of the alley and back. Bear relieved himself on the smelly dumpster and then next to it. Harold planned to clean up later but seriously doubted anyone would notice as there were far smellier and nastier things deposited in the alley.

Once back upstairs Harold found dog food in the small pantry off the kitchen and filled both food and water bowls that were already on the floor underneath the kitchen's only window. Bear drank some water, sniffed disinterestedly at the food before going to lie back down on a worn dog bed Harold hadn't noticed before in the corner of the living room.

Finch could feel his heart shatter into a million pieces. Watching John walk away the day before had almost killed him inside. It had torn Harold’s emotions to shreds seeing that lost and defeated look in John’s eyes before he’d turned and disappeared into the crowd. It didn't make matters any better but at least he realized why it had to be done. Though a person can understand even accept why something has to be, how can you explain it to an animal why after such a brief reunion he was separated once again from the human he loved the most? The dog adored him and would die to protect him Harold had realized long ago. Bear was ‘their’ dog of course, but the canine’s heart and soul belonged only to John.

Harold watched until Bear closed his eyes and heard the silent whimper from the dog as he fell asleep. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Finch returned to his bedroom, ‘I can’t even promise Bear we’ll get John back this time. All I can do is keep us alive now’, Harold silently cried inside. And that meant learning about and living Harrington Furnham’s life.

Finch pulled the metal box off the shelf and went to sit down on the bed once more. The box was locked of course and the extra set of keys that had been in the envelope held the small key to the lock. Unlocking the box’s lid and flipping it back revealed a box crammed to capacity with manila folders. One folder marked documents held two birth certificates, one marriage license and a death certificate for an Eric Furnham. Looking closer Harold noticed both of the birth certificates were yellowed and aged. The one belonging to Harrington James Furnham, III, birth date October 23, 1952, listed his mother as Alana Furnham, maiden name Stanhope, and father as Harrington Byrd Furnham, II. The other belonged to Eric Creighton, birth date May 28, 1953, mother Kathryn Creighton, maiden name Mason and father William Creighton, . The marriage license was issued by the state of New York on June 30, 2011 for Harrington and Eric Furnham. The death certificate was for Eric Furnham, date of death July 14, 2011, cause of death, severe head trauma.

In different folders Finch found recent newspaper clippings and some so old they were yellowed and brittle along with some equally old letters. Apparently the third Harrington was expected to take over and eventually inherit a thriving shipping business in Boston. But in college he’d met and fallen in love with Eric. Harrington’s family had disowned him for admitting to being gay and lost contact with him afterwards. The elder Furnham had passed away without an heir and the company had been taken over by a rival over 25 years ago.

Eric's small family were working class people but they had also turned their backs on their gay son. Creighton had no other living relations except his parents and a sister. The family had eventually made peace. However, when his parents had died, the sister was never heard from again and Eric's only relation was Harrington. 

The most recent newspaper clippings were mostly about a multi-car crash and names of the victims and injured.

_“Eric Furnham of Philadelphia was killed instantly and his partner of 35 years was severely injured. The men had been one of the many same sex couples who came to New York to be legally married. The couple spent two weeks in New York before returning to Pennsylvania. Their black SUV was struck head on by….”_

Nothing contained in the file box explained what Harrington and Eric had done for 35 years and where the surviving Furnham had been for the last three years. Harold returned the box and its contents to its place on the shelf. He picked up the keys thinking the others might be for the locked desk and file cabinet in an even smaller room across the hall that served to be a makeshift office.

Looking through contents of the various folders in the file cabinet had revealed Harrington and Eric both graduated university, and started a small accounting firm. It never made them rich according to the last ten years of the firm’s income tax returns, but they were able to sell the business for a small profit and retire in their fifties. Harold found some portraits of the two men and some photographs tucked away in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Except for the hair coloring and cut Harrington and Harold were almost identical.

Harold checked the contents of the desk drawers and found nothing except a rental agreement; the apartment was a sublet arrangement between Furnham and the previous tenant. The real Harrington had moved in only a month ago according to the move-in date on the rental agreement and receipts from a moving company based in Philly.

The last key on the ring of keys opened the only locked drawer of the desk where Finch found a checkbook and bank statements. There were also insurance claim forms. The insurance company for the at-fault driver had paid the surviving Furnham over two million dollars for the auto accident killing Eric and injuring Harrington. Money had been spent for Eric's final funeral costs, Harrington's hospital costs and the costs of renting the apartment. None of the money had been spent since.

Sifting through discarded receipts in the wire waste basket Finch found some for the new clothing in the closet, take-out food, sundries purchased at a drugstore and a pair of dress shoes. But none of them were dated in the past two weeks.

Harold’s new identity wasn't created by the Machine or Root for some person who existed only on paper; Harrington was or had been an actual person. The real Furnham or any trace of him had disappeared two weeks ago, his life left waiting for Harold to assume.

Everything after that had been altered for Finch to become Harrington. Supposedly, Furnham had taken on-line courses during his recovery and earned his teaching credentials credentials before he recently accepted a position as substitute teacher for the NYC school system.

Even Bear had a new identity, Jack, a mostly solid black Shepherd mix, with a certificate of training as an assist dog. Another small handwritten note in Jack’s file had four words scribbled on it, look under the sink.

It was no small feat to get Bear to submit to having his hair dyed and for Finch to kneel in front of the antique bathtub for an over an hour applying the dye, especially with extra care to parts of Bear’s head and muzzle, then rinsing and drying.

When Harold was finished his back, hip, shoulder and neck were figuratively screaming in pain, but he still had to clean-up. He tossed the dye stained toweling in a garbage bag, along with everything Finch had been dressed in the night he arrived. Planning on throwing the bag in the overflowing dumpster he found earlier, Harold changed from the soaking wet polo shirt into one of the crew necks and an old sweatshirt. His shoulder had bled through the gauze he noticed but he planned to hurry downstairs, get rid of the bag, and when that was done, return upstairs and retreat the shoulder as best he could. Harold looked in the bureau mirror and attempted to use a brush to convince his hair to lie flat and part at the side as in his/Harrington’s photos.

Finch also slipped on the wedding ring, even if on paper his new personae had been married to Eric and Harold Finch was to be no more. Although he and John had never married – Harold may never even see him again –  who was to know that in his heart the person Harold is truly married to and always will be is John Reese.

Harold didn't plan on being outside for long, just hide the garbage bag in the mound of other rotting garbage, clean up Bear’s mess by the dumpster and be back inside before he had time to get cold.

Only after he rushed to get everything done, Finch noticed his wound had bled through both the crew and sweatshirt. Harold tried to hurry back upstairs but just as he was getting ready to pass his neighbor’s door, the woman came rushing out nearly knocking Finch over in her haste. The woman reached out to steady him and her eyes flew wide open when she saw the blood on the shoulder of the sweatshirt.

Before Finch could protest she was pulling him into her apartment, ordering him to take off the sweatshirt, telling Harold she was a retired nurse and his gunshot wounded needed to be treated all in one long breathless sentence.

When she came back with a medical bag and saw Harold still standing there, she asked him to please sit. She introduced herself as Martha Carlson. She told Finch she knew he had no reason to believe her, that she wouldn't tell anyone, but his shoulder needed to be looked at. Harold had no reason to trust her but he couldn't go anywhere else and he knew what could happen if his shoulder was left un-treated.

He’d pulled off the sweatshirt and didn't complain when she used a pair of scissors to cut the undershirt. While she gently probed around the injury, Harold shut his eyes thinking about John fingers having done the same. Martha never asked who had done it but told Harold whoever had removed the bullet did a good job. The retired nurse then grabbed a tube of cream and squeezed some into the wound. It stung with a burning cold before becoming completely numb. After taping a large piece of gauze over the bullet track she handed him a pharmacy bag filled with gauze, tape and a bottle of antibiotics. She tossed the tube in telling Harold to repeat what she had done if he needed to for pain.

Martha had grabbed Finch by his good arm pulling him up out of the chair and walked him outside her apartment. Harold was halfway back up his stairs when Martha called up, “I didn't get your name.”

“It’s Harrington, Ma’am.” Harold answered not looking back down.

Before he opened his door he heard her laugh “I'm not a Ma’am, I’m Martha. And Harrington is too much for you. I’m calling you Harry. Harry, you come back and knock on my door if you need my help again!” Harold went in his apartment and leaned against the door after he closed it. He closed his eyes and prayed his instinct to trust Martha had been right.

~*~

And now after five months, two in his new job substituting at various schools and three during the summer working as a night auditor for one of the hotels of a nationwide chain, Harrington had spent the first day of the new school year trying to run herd over a rambunctious bunch of 5th graders. The kids were overly excited, looking forward to being in Miss Andrews’ class. Only Miss Andrews was now Mrs. Harding and was a day late getting back from her honeymoon and the kids were very unhappy to have that “weird” Mr. Furnham as their teacher. He tried to explain that Miss Andrews was now Mrs. Harding and she would return the next day. But tomorrow was forever away and the children had not given him a moment’s respite the whole day seemingly blaming him for their favorite teacher’s absence.

When Harry got home all he wanted to do was go up to his apartment, drink until the pain was numbed, and fall into bed. Maybe in his whiskey dreams a salt and peppered haired man with eyes of blue would come back to him and stay this time.

But Jack had run to Martha’s door expecting a treat and Harry followed the dog into her apartment. As had happened for months now, Martha was waiting for Harry to come home and invite him into her apartment. Even though his shoulder had healed months ago she still asked if it was okay or was it bothering him. Assured that her neighbor was fine, Martha fed him supper. Harry told her about his day and received a pat on his back with Martha telling him things will be better tomorrow.

Once upstairs he noticed Martha had been in his apartment to clean, he’d long ago stopped trying to tell her she didn't need to. Harry had given her an extra key to let herself in to check on Jack if the dog had to stay at home for the day. Some of the schools didn't allow dogs on school property period. Martha had progressed from checking on the dog to checking on Harry himself, which by her definition was making sure he had a clean apartment, freshly laundered clothes and a decent meal every day.

Harry recognized it was because of Martha’s watchful friendship and Jack’s faithfulness he hadn't drank himself to death already. But it still didn't keep him from grabbing the half-empty bottle of bargain basement rotgut he’d purchased that week and a glass before carrying them into his room.

He was in the middle of his third glass of ‘pain relief’ when he’d had to answer the landline phone. Harry almost spilled what was left in the glass on him and did knock the phone base on the floor fumbling to answer it. It was the superintendent asking him to teach Mrs. Harding’s class again tomorrow as she still couldn't catch a flight home. The superintendent tried to reassure Furnham that he would have some idea what to do if he agreed to sub one more day; Mrs. Harding had faxed her first day's lesson plans, seating arrangement, etc. to the school. Harry needed the day’s pay no matter how horrendous the kids were so he agreed to be there at 8:30 AM.

Furnham set the alarm, but he knew that he would be up again hours before it would go off. No matter how much he drank to ease the pain and forget or to just pass out, Harry always dreamt of the blue eyed man and tried to hold on to him. But, the man would slip out of his grasp again and Harry would startle himself awake shouting, "John!"

+++

The day wasn't nearly as bad as the previous. The children had actually behaved and even listened while Mr. Furnham had recited the lessons outlined in Mrs. Harding’s fax. At the end of the day he packed up his things in his leather case, told the janitor he was leaving, that the room could be locked up for the night and headed for the exit to the faculty parking lot.

Harry approached his beat up old Taurus and noticed a slip of paper slid under one of the windshield wipers. “Don’t come back tomorrow homo!” was written in black marker in large letters. He looked around but the parking lot was empty now except for a few cars; there were some grade school aged boys shooting hoops on the court at the other end of school property but none of them even looked his way.

Harry wadded up the paper and tossed it in his car, another cruel prank of the type he’d gotten used to. Some parents had recognized him from the news on the car crash. Even though Furnham hadn't tried to keep it secret, he’d never talked about it with anyone either, still word of his homosexuality had gotten around. Some still hated and were not kind. But these were just words written on a piece of paper and he thought nothing more about it on the way home.

He was about five minutes from his apartment when steam started billowing out from the edges of the car's hood and the engine died as soon as he pulled over to the side of the road. When the steam had subsided and the latch had cooled enough for Harry to release it and raise the hood, the first thing he noticed were the sliced radiator hoses. Harry wasn't a mechanic but he could tell the hoses had been cut and not worn out. They’d been slit just enough to lose cooling fluid but not so fast as to cause the engine to overheat right away. Harry refused to even touch a cell phone let alone use one, so he would have to walk to the diner down the road to use their pay phone to call for a tow.

Thankfully he’d been able to bring Jack with him today and Harry wasn't as worried as he would have been walking alone. Jack had sat up alert when Harry had pulled the car over, and when he opened the back door the dog jumped out of the car ready to take care of any threat. He calmed the canine assuring him everything was okay; they were just going for a walk and he picked up the Jack’s leash now dragging on the ground.

Man and dog had walked far enough that when Harry turned to look back the car was just a small blue shape off in the distance. Harry couldn't see the diner yet in front of him, and he was having doubts he could make it much further because his bad hip and leg were about to give out. He thought about trying to flag down a passing car, but traffic was oddly light for the time of day. When Harry heard a vehicle approaching from behind he turned to try and get the driver’s attention. The truck flew on by without the driver having given any indication of having seen him.

Harry watched the old green Ford turn left at the light and disappear from sight. Resigned to continue walking, he was beginning to limp badly while leaning heavily on his cane as the pain was becoming excruciating. Harry was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other, that only Jack tugging at the leash alerted him to a vehicle slowing down and coming to a stop alongside them.

The driver of the old pickup rolled down the window and asked Harry if they needed a ride. He looked at the driver’s face and started to thank him before the words caught in his throat. The man’s face was covered by a full length beard and his longish hair was tied back, but he would have recognized those blue eyes anywhere.

 ~~*~~


	2. John Reese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He rarely slept soundly, if at all, even after his shift at the diner and a morning workout at the gym had Rafe climbing into bed exhausted. But this morning was one of the few exceptions; he had showered and crawled into bed expecting to watch the shadows shift across the room, the bright morning sunlight dimming into afternoon. Rafe had watched the dust dancing in a bright beam shooting from the shade-less window and landing at the foot of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to John Reese
> 
>  
> 
> [ Live Journal ](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/5877.html)

Gianni Raphael Rissole, Rafe everyone called him, reached across the bed and jabbed the alarm button off. He rarely slept soundly, if at all, even after his shift at the diner and a morning workout at the gym had Rafe climbing into bed exhausted. But this morning was one of the few exceptions; he had showered and crawled into bed expecting to watch the shadows shift across the room, the bright morning sunlight dimming into afternoon. Rafe had watched the dust dancing in a bright beam shooting from the shade-less window and landing at the foot of the bed.

Rafe hadn’t felt his eyes closing and sleep claiming him. Trembling fingers were carding through his hair; an emotionally breaking voice was assuring him everything would be okay. He buried his face into the vibration, his forehead rasped by the stubble of hair on the other’s chin. Sobs were racking his shoulders even as he rutted against the body below him. The torturous pleasure of wiry soft hair rubbing against Rafe's overly sensitive nipples sent shock-wave after shock-wave of needy desire down to his groin. He kissed a neck salty with the mixture of sweat and his own tears, reached between their bodies his hand encircling both their hardness and the voice choked out, “Please?” The trembling hands now caressed his back, as Rafe stroked them both closer and closer to climax. They were right on the edge, their bodies tensing…

Rafe killed the shrilling blast of the alarm and then flipped over on his back. Even though he had been startled awake, the dream still left him painfully hard. He grabbed the old tee shirt he had tossed on the nightstand on his way to the shower this morning and wrapped it around himself. It only took a few strokes before he felt himself draw up and spill into the shirt.

Frustrated, Rafe shot the cum-filled shirt into the hamper across the room, pushed up and off the bed and clumped off into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He stared into the mirror while washing his hands then shook his head. He hid ** _it_** well when he was out being Rafe, the handsome friendly cook, the man everyone considered a friend or possibly a romantic catch by the diner's employees or numerous customers.

 ** _It_** being the pain and hopelessness Rafe saw in his eyes when he was alone. He had done his best trying to forget his old life and becoming who he was now. The only thing was he couldn’t nor wanted to completely forget. When he walked out the door he was Gianni Raphael Rissole, please call me Rafe, all my friends do. But back inside the four walls of his tiny efficiency apartment he wasn’t Rafe. He was a sad, lonely, defeated man who only dared when there was no one around to remember the time when things were different. Only in the dreams did he feel loved and that things might be okay. The dreams never came easy because of his inability to sleep, and now they rarely came at all.

Rafe splashed some water on his face then looked at himself in the mirror once more. Would any of the others even recognize him now? The image looking back at him was bearded with longish hair almost reaching the shoulders, both neatly trimmed and cut. Not the shaggy unkempt derelict that had approached the lone figure staring out at the river a few years and forever ago. If by chance they would meet again, would he even recognize Rafe for who he used to be? Was he even alive now? The bullet wound wasn’t serious but it had needed looked at, only they had fled before…

***

John Reese had returned fire, shot after shot, in the direction of Greer and the Decima agents until he felt Harold pulling at his arm. He turned then following Finch back down the alley and around the corner heading in the opposite direction away from the chaos of the explosion’s aftermath. In their effort to get away Reese had smashed the window of a parked car, unlocked the right side doors while getting in and once seated broke off the car’s ignition switch with the butt of his gun. Harold opened the rear door for Bear to hop in, barely having time enough to get in the front passenger seat himself and close the door before John had the car started, tires screeching as they sped away.

Reese had been so intent on making sure they weren’t being followed, turning this way and that, he hadn’t spoken to or even glanced at the man seated next to him. Only when they were miles away and John was certain they’d escaped Decima’s goons, did he slow down and pull the car into an empty parking lot. He turned to make some snarky comment about taking so long to find Harold when the words stalled in his throat. Finch’s eyes were closed tight and his jaw clenched with pain, his left hand clutching his right shoulder. John hadn’t needed to ask, Harold had caught a bullet in the shootout. The safe house was better equipped medically, especially after Simmons had tried to kill him, but the Library was closer.

They ditched the car in an underground parking structure several blocks from the Library, and the three walked the rest of the way. John had slipped off his coat and draped it over Finch’s shoulders to conceal the blood stained hole in Harold’s suit, so by the time both men were in the main room of the Library each man was shaking. John had been trained not to feel it, but fear for Harold had overridden that and the cold had seeped into his bones. Finch was trembling violently from cold, exhaustion and pain and dropped heavily into his swivel desk chair, not having the strength left to make it to their crash room.

Reese had instead grabbed the medical kit and brought it back into the main room. He helped Harold out of the bloodied suit jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top buttons of Finch’s dress shirt.  John cut the undershirt six inches below the neck with the surgical scissors from the bag until he could get a good enough look at the wound without Harold having to remove the shirt.

John gently probed around the wound feeling the edges of the piece of metal still lodged in the wound tract. He told Harold the bullet needed to come out right away and he would have to do it because neither man knew when Shaw would make it back to the Library. John sterilized the wound before giving Finch a shot to locally anesthetize the shoulder.

Even after Reese had given the anesthetic time to take effect, Harold still ground his teeth together and grabbed the chair so hard his knuckles whitened as John probed around with the forceps for the bullet. It had torn through the soft tissue below Finch’s clavicle before flattening when its progress was stopped by the thick bone of his shoulder blade. Reese had to use some force to turn the mangled metal enough to be able to grasp and pull it out the way it had entered without causing more damage to Harold’s shoulder.

While Reese was poking around in the wound he would glance up every few seconds to watch Harold’s face for signs of shock, but all John saw were eyes, although filled with pain, looking back at him full of trust and strength. John finally retrieved the bullet and both men let out held breath. After cleansing the wound once more and taping a thick gauze pad over it, he let Harold sit up in the chair.

John draped his coat over Finch’s shoulders, while telling him Shaw needed to check him out later. Of course, Harold rarely one for overly emotional admissions, in his roundabout way admitted he admired Reese for choosing to be what he was.

Of course John Reese wasn’t overly emotive either but let Harold know that he had become lost somewhere along the way and was ready to give it all up, until some jackass had come along and gave him a purpose and a reason to live again. ‘I need you so much, I couldn’t go on if I lost you, don’t you know that?’ the words unspoken in John’s half-smile.

There had been a moment of relief and thankfulness in that they had weathered another storm; together they would face what was coming. However, one phone call from Samantha Groves had shattered all that.

They had to get out of the Library. It had been compromised. Greer, Decima had won. Samaritan was online. The only thing that they could do now was to hide in plain sight under new identities and wait.  And hope.

Harold changed into a spare shirt, jacket and coat kept at the Library.  The bloodied clothes, any evidence of Harold having been shot and then treated John stuffed in his bag. While Harold shut down his beloved computers, John opened the locked bookcase and removed all the fake IDs, passports, anything that had been created for either man or Shaw that could be used to lead Decima to them and tossed the paper in the bag too. He only took one handgun, its silencer and ammo from his ordinance in the Library and stuck them between the folds of his spare suit before placing them on top of everything else then zipped the bag closed.

Harold had clipped the spare leash on Bear and followed John out the gate before pulling it closed after one last look at what had truly been their home the last three years. All three descended the stairs for possibly the last time.  John had asked for Harold’s new name, but Finch had said it was probably for the best if they didn’t know and had quieted John before Reese could tell him his before they walked out the door.

They walked in silence together for several blocks before parting without saying another word.  John turned his head to look back once to see Harold’s face. John had to quickly turn his head away not trusting himself to not change his mind and run after Finch, after seeing the totally lost and defeated look in the man’s eyes. Reese walked a few steps ahead. Not being able to keep going like he knew he should, he turned to look back once more and Harold Finch once again had disappeared into a crowd.

Reese walked to the nearest subway entrance, hopped the gate and got into the first car that stopped in front of him. He had been standing a distance away from the crowd of workers awaiting the train on their morning commute. John rode with no destination in mind for hours. People had entered the car and left, no one particularly paying any attention to him except for a few women who had smiled his way.

It probably wasn’t the best idea to go to the loft; definitely. Reese realized he was not being very rational. Nevertheless, after several hours of riding aimlessly and deciding he wasn’t being watched John changed routes on the subway. He took the one where he could get off close to Baker Street. When Reese entered the apartment building the first thing he did was go down to the basement where the tenant’s storage areas were located along with water heaters and the building’s furnaces. At one end there was also an old incinerator; John shoved Harold’s bloody clothing in along with all the fake paper. Reese lit everything on fire and made sure nothing was left but ash before he went back upstairs to his unit.

It seemed like it had been years but it was only several weeks since John had packed a bag and then rented a car to drive to DC to meet up with Harold. Nothing seemed to be out of place, everything the same as he had left it before going to the nation’s capital. Reese didn’t think even Samaritan could trace Harold’s purchase of the apartment and Finch was too good to leave any financial trail leading back to him.

The loft more than likely would not have another tenant for years if ever once John walked out the door. He figured he had plenty of time but still hurried covering the furniture with sheets or strips of plastic sheeting from a roll he had found in the basement. He especially took care in covering things that had been delivered to the apartment, which Finch had claimed he never sent but John believed otherwise. There was the desk, the chess set on the coffee table, the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed and of course the bed.

That done, John pulled down a plastic tote about the size of two shoe boxes from his closet shelf. In it were hundreds of photographs Reese had taken of Harold, some when they were working cases or early on when his new boss was really an unknown, but most of them were ones John had taken of Finch for no reason at all except John liked how Harold had looked that day, or the suit he wore, and after he’d given Bear to Harold, the two of them together.

Next to the space where the tote had been, John had stored the case containing his favorite camera and its assortment of lenses. Maybe it had been some kind of premonition but John had decided at the last moment to put the case on the shelf and take a different camera and lens. Reese had to leave that one behind in their hunted flight from D.C. So by luck or fate John hadn’t lost this one. It was just a camera but this one had been a gift to him by Harold, nothing personal-just for the job, but special because Finch had given it to him.

John didn’t know if he’d be wearing them again, but he couldn’t leave behind the bespoke suits Harold had bought for him in Italy, one for the job and the other he only wore on special occasions; plus the Glen Check Harold had altered by hand himself. John changed from the jacket and slacks he still wore then folded them and put both in the bag he’d emptied in the basement along with the other three suits. The box of photos and the camera case John put in the bag on top the clothes. The last thing John packed in amongst the suits was a silver framed photo Shaw had been coerced into taking of John, Harold and Bear together last fall.

John - dressed now in jeans, black tee, and brown leather jacket - took one last look around and left the loft, maybe never to return again. Reese went to his parking area and took the tarp off the Ducati he’d left in his reserved space, strapped the bag to the back of the motorcycle and rode away. Reese found a storage facility with climate controlled units and paid for a year’s rental fees with cash for one big enough for the bike. John left the bike and the bag in the unit. With only the coat on his back and the manila envelope containing his new life tucked in an inside pocket, Reese left the building and walked to the closest bus stop making his way to his _new home_.

John Reese’s _new home_ was just like the by-the-week-or-month dumps he had chosen to stay in before gifted the loft. This place was cleaner, more maintained than most but it was still just a stop off on the way to something better, nothing permanent, and nothing like a home.

Reese had stayed in worse before, a lot worse. The tiny apartment and its furnishings were clean, even if well-used, but John couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he walked in the room. And only one room and a small bath off to the side bigger, but not by much, than his clothes closet at the loft.

John hung his coat on a wooden hanger and hid it towards the back of the all-purpose closet, walked over to the battered old wooden dining table/desk and dumped the remaining contents of the envelope.

Most of the cash he’d spent on the storage unit, there was maybe a few hundred left, a California driver’s license, a tattered social security card, the address of this place scribbled on a scrap of paper, and a set of truck keys on an old Ford key fob. Reese couldn’t help but groan inwardly, he’d seen an old beat up grass green Ford pickup parked out on the street, California plates. Nothing in the envelope gave John a clue to who Gianni Rafael Rissole was. Of course Reese frowned; Root wouldn’t make this easy for him.

There was a folder from a temp agency propped between an old cafe style sugar dispenser and the section of wall under the only apartment window. Apparently _Rafe_ had been taking temp work since arriving in New York City three weeks ago. There was an order made out for him to start work as a night cook at Perry’s Diner in three days.

John had to search the apartment for anything that could let him know who _Rafe_ was; what Rissole had been doing for forty some years and where. Why had he left California and lastly why had he come to New York City?

Under the bed he’d found a plastic folding file holder in an old suitcase. The folder contained a birth certificate and custody papers along with some legal documents including an order of parole for good behavior and a release form signed by a state criminal judge for complying with the terms of his parole, giving Gianni Rafael Rissole his freedom to go anywhere he pleased.

Gianni’s parents, Antonio and Lizbeth Rissole, had been killed by an intruder in their home when the boy was only ten. He had been sent to live with an uncle who’d only taken the boy in for the deceased’s dependent child social security benefits. Rafe had grown up unwanted and angry, in trouble off and on until at the age of twenty-two he had been convicted of accessory in the commission of a felony in the robbery/murder of a convenience store clerk. Rissole had been sentenced to two twenty year terms to be served consecutively with eligibility for parole only after the first term had been served. Rissole had done his time, was a model citizen during probation and bolted from California once he was a free man again.

John stood up and looked out the window and mouthed a satirical ‘Thanks’ to The Machine if it was still watching, then flopped down on the single bed three strides from the table. John stretched out his long frame on the too short mattress and put his hands behind his head.

Reese showed up three days later at Perry’s Diner and met with the manager. He shook hands with the jovial older man, “Hi my name is Gianni Rissole, but please call me Rafe…”

***

The job had become permanent. Rafe really did love cooking, had tweaked some of the menu items and came up with new desserts. It was his job during the slow hours of the night to bake breads and desserts for the busy day shift. Business during the day and evening had started booming because customers had spread the word about the delicious food and the hunky new cook.

Rafe and Tom, the manager, had become good friends. But like an overbearing father Tom had worried Rafe was too young to stay a lonely bachelor and never missed an opportunity to set up his friend, ‘he is like my own son,’ with a niece or a friend of one of his married daughters.

Rafe had ended up dating every female his age Tom sent in his direction even if most of those dates were technically blind dates. It was kind of a relief when he had met Tom’s niece Sherry. They were both getting tired of Tom’s well-meaning interference and had agreed to keep seeing each other with the understanding that this was a friends only relationship.

****

Rafe really wasn’t in the mood to do anything after waking from the dream. Especially not to pretend to be Mr. Happy but he had agreed to take Sherry to dinner at her favorite restaurant before his shift started. She hated riding in his bucket of bolts so they were meeting at the diner to take her car.

He was running a bit late and was driving as fast as he could without breaking any speed limits and really didn’t pay much attention to the old blue Taurus sitting along the side of the road with the hood up or several blocks up ahead the older gentleman walking with a dog. He was limping actually. Limping!

It couldn’t be. Rafe pulled over to the left turn lane and watched the pair through his rear view mirror while waiting for the light to change. The dog was black and was it that odd for it to be with a man that limped? When the light changed he drove the truck back around and pulled alongside the man and dog, rolled down his window and asked the man if they needed a ride.

Rafe’s heart jumped into his throat. The dog might be black now and the man’s hair and glasses were different but no matter the outer trappings you placed on the pair Rafe would know that prominent nose anywhere.

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I know nothing about bullet wounds, removing them, etc. so if I made huge blunders I am sorry.  
> Also I haven't been in trouble a day in my life so if my legalese sucks I'm sorry.


	3. Accidental Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words of appreciation Harry was about to express were silenced instantly as he slumped against the truck, his legs almost ready to give out, staring nearly open mouthed at the driver. _‘John! Oh my god. Is that you?’_
> 
> ‘ _Harold? It’s me, John_.’ Rafe caught himself before he blurted the out the words, his former life’s CIA training kicking in to not blow someone’s cover. Even out here on a virtually deserted side road _It_ could be watching.  “Hey buddy, you okay?” Rafe asked his voice full of concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry passed by the diner almost daily on his way home from work.  
> It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed.  
> Harry passed by the diner almost daily on his way home from work.  
> It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed.  
>  
> 
> [ Live Journal ](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/5924.html)

 

“Is that your car back there? You need a ride or something, sir?

When he’d turned and started to thank the helpful stranger in the vehicle that had pulled up alongside him and his dog, Harold was mute. Harry was shocked speechless, literally. It was the same battered green pickup Harry had seen pass by minutes earlier and turn at the light up ahead of them. The thought that the stranger had been kind enough to come back to offer assistance flitted briefly through Furnham’s mind.  He was about to veraciously offer gratitude to the driver, and then he had looked into the vehicle.

The words of appreciation Harry was about to express were silenced instantly as he slumped against the truck, his legs almost ready to give out, staring nearly open mouthed at the driver. _‘John! Oh my god. Is that you?’_

‘ _Harold? It’s me, John_.’ Rafe caught himself before he blurted the out the words, his former life’s CIA training kicking in to not blow someone’s cover. Even out here on a virtually deserted side road _It_ could be watching.  “Hey buddy, you okay?” Rafe asked his voice full of concern.

Harry thus far rendered mute from the incredulity of gazing into those blue eyes once again; he had envisioned that for months in his dreams before the harsh reality of day would crush any hope of that actually happening and now--Jack’s excitement, pulling the leash, tugging on Harry’s arm snapped him out of his stupor.

“ _Foei_ Jack! _Af Liggen_. Good boy.” The dog obeyed immediately crouching at Harry’s feet; nevertheless, the dog was trembling noticeably his excitement barely curbed.

Harry shifted the leash to his other hand, reached down to stroke the dog’s head, calming the excited canine. Without the other man giving anything away he just knew without a doubt that the driver of the beat up truck was indeed _John Reese_. The Malenois had taken to his new life as Jack the service dog but he’d never forgotten his Alpha, his other senses recognizing him even if the eyes didn’t.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you. Oh yes, that is my car and I would really appreciate a ride to the nearest pay phone.”

Harry answered finally gathering his wits about him. _It_ was out there probably listening to their conversation right now and he wouldn’t jeopardize the other man’s life by calling out his real name.

Rafe felt so relieved. He had thought for sure the other man was about to have a stroke the way his face had paled and he’d fallen into the side of the old truck.

“Climb on in. Your dog can sit up here too.”

Rafe pulled the handle from the inside opening the door partly not wanting the older man to have to fight with the stubborn outer latch with his hands holding on to a cane and a leash with an anxious dog on the other end of it.

When both man and dog were inside the truck cab, the latter trying to bathe the side of his face with a slobbery wet tongue, Rafe laughed out, “That’s enough boy.” The dog stopped right away but still leaned into his long lost Alpha snuffling at his neck and head. Rafe still managed to reach around be the dog’s investigation of himself and extend his right hand, “My name is Gianni Rissole. My friends call me Rafe.”

Harrington Furnham III, commanded Jack, “ _Nee, Af liggen!_ ” the dog settling down between the two men, his head and front paws hanging off the edge of the truck’s bench seat, before Harry turning slightly left to grab Rafe’s hand with his right.

“I’m Harrington Furnham the third. I don’t really have that many friends, only the one, actually.” He smiled shyly almost, “Well now maybe two. Martha calls me Harry.”

Rafe was surprised at the twinge of jealousy he felt hearing Harry’s friend was female, especially when he himself had been playing the dating game with over a dozen women the last five months before his _arrangement_ with Sherry.

“Well **Harry….** let’s get that car of yours towed before there’s nothing left of it except the frame.” Rafe started the truck up and drove it back onto the road heading for Perry’s.

Harry laughed at the absurdity anyone would strip his worn out old Taurus. “I sincerely doubt that… **Rafe**. That thing should have been put out to pasture a decade ago. But, I am only a lowly underpaid substitute teacher and it would be too conspicuous to drive around in a Towncar worth more than my yearly income.”

“It would be safer to drive something more dependable or at least carry a cell phone if your car leaves you stranded and you need to call for help,” Rafe suggested helpfully. He shuddered to think of what could happen next time to Harry. _Harold_ was very brave and proud, _John_ had loved him for that, but _Finch_ could never really defend himself physically. Harrington couldn’t either.

Furnham harrumphed at that. “Well, my car’s breakdown wasn’t self-inflicted, it had help. And with all the craziness involving government surveillance, privacy invasion, people being shot in the streets or hauled off to never be seen again, I am terrified to have, use or touch a cell phone. I don’t even own a computer anymore, if I absolutely have to get online I use one if it is available at a school where I happen be teaching.”

Harry motioned with his hand pointing out the age of Rafe’s truck. “Besides I think you realize how we sometimes need to make do with what we have. I also noticed you didn’t offer me the use of _**your**_ cell phone.

Rafe laughed and smacked the steering wheel, “Oh Harry you got me there. No, I don’t have use for cellphones much myself. Still, I don’t mean to offend you, but wouldn’t it be safer if you kept one in your glove box for emergencies with your disability and all?”

Harry dropped his hands in his lap and looked out the window. “It was stupid of me to try to walk to the diner to use their payphone. Just because one can reach their destination faster in a motorized vehicle doesn’t make the distance any shorter. And my hip and back paid the price for my thoughtlessness. I just wasn’t thinking right after I’d discovered the car's radiator hoses had been cut.”

“Cut?” Rafe needed to hear more but he’d just pulled the truck into a space in the Perry’s Diner parking lot and killed the engine.

“Ah, here we are. Thank you for the ride…Rafe. I can call my mechanic’s wrecker service to pick up my car and a taxi to take me home.” Harry got out of the cab as fast as he could, calling a reluctant Jack to come, before limping as fast as his still painful hip would allow towards the diner entrance.. He was glad to have found _John_ again but couldn’t shake the feeling that letting Rafe get mixed up in Furnham’s problems was a huge mistake.

Rafe sat there immobilized for a moment, stunned that _Harold_ tried to hurry out of his life again. He just couldn’t let Harry walk away to disappear from this life too and jumped from the cab, his tall frame’s longer legs catching up to Furnham  with his unsteady gait before he’d made it through the door of the diner.

“Wait, Furnham…Harry…wait up!” Rafe reached out and grabbed the retreating man’s forearm halting his progress. Harry turned looking up at his pursuer with startled eyes, although he offered no words of protest at being prevented from entering the building.

“Look, I know it’s really none of my business, but it could take a while for the tow-truck to get there. I was serious about your car getting stripped, even a reluctant candidate for the junkyard like yours. Make your call and then I can drive you back there where we can wait. After the tow is on its way to the mechanic’s garage, I’ll give you a lift home.” Rafe grinned with his--come on that’s what friends are for smile--only his eyes were pleading, _‘Please…Harold? I can’t let you walk out of my life again.’_

Harry smoothly pulled his arm out of Rafe’s grasp while returning the other man’s smile briefly with a reluctant one of his own. “While I do appreciate your being a Good **_Samaritan_ ** offering me a ride, I really can’t impose on you anymore.”  Harry returned Rafe's pleading gaze with a troubled one of his own, _‘It’s too dangerous John. We can’t be seen together, I just can’t risk endangering your life.’_

Rafe opened the diner’s door for some customers leaving the establishment, then gestured for Harry to go in with a, “No imposition, believe me.”

__‘_ I don't care Harold. I can't lose you again. I'm not really living now anyway. Samaritan be damned! _’__

Once inside Rafe waved his hand towards the back of the dining area, “Payphone is in the back. At least let me get you something to drink and I’ll wait in case you change your mind.”

Harry was about to decline both offers, but decided it couldn’t endanger their lives any more than they had already by accepting his rescuer’s attempt to assist him further. _'This is insanely stupid, John and incredibly weak of me to want to be with you for_ _even a few minutes more.’_

“Thank you again Mr. Rissole, iced tea, unsweetened, if you don’t mind.”

Harry made his way toward the back, trying to keep from grimacing with every step, his hip still seizing in pain from the earlier exertion. Even though he was totally trying to focus on making it to the payphone and not on Rissole following behind him before dropping into a booth near the back, it was a bit of a surprise to hear Rafe call out to one of the waitresses with familiarity, “An iced tea and coffee, Kylie darlin’, please?

And he was totally unprepared for the blonde woman brushing angrily by him after she exited the ladies room, “Rafe, where the hell have you been? You were supposed to meet me here thirty minutes ago!”

~~*~~


	4. Parting Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rafe pulled the truck into Furnham’s empty parking space Harry turned to Rafe to thank him for all his help and Harold had to tell John goodbye, he couldn’t intrude in John’s new existence and possibly endanger his ex-partner’s life in the process, “Thank you, Mr. Rissole for all you’ve done. I better get inside, Martha’s probably worried sick about me. And I am sure you have some troubled waters to calm with your girlfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to describe this chapter. Nothing has really changed. Each one feels exactly the same about the other as they did before but worry that things have changed.  
>    
> I hope the style in which I wrote this chapter is not too confusing.  
> italicized wording is John and Harold's thoughts, otherwise it is their new identities in action or speaking.  
>    
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/6291.html)

 

Rissole couldn’t keep his eyes off Harry’s backside as he limped stiffly towards the bank of phones. It was out of concern for the disabled man, to make sure he didn’t fall. Rafe figured Furnham was exhausted and in pain from having walked so far.

_Harold’s lost weight and his gait is so much more stilted but that butt still looks so enticing. I thought it was because of all the alcohol I had downed on the subway car when I was so drawn to it that first day by the river, but I was stone cold sober at **our** diner when I thanked him for the job and it has been seducing me ever since._

Rafe was so focused on watching his charge and looking around the ranting woman he nearly fell off the bench seat when she practically screamed, “Rafe! Are you even listening?”

Furnham had to grasp Jack’s leash more firmly in his hand, his voice low and firm while commanding the dog, “ _Volg_!” The assist dog was always obedient and immediately heeled to his masters left, following the man close by his side as Harry continued limping back to the bank of payphones on the far wall past the restrooms. The slack in the leash increased slightly more than after the dog heeled, when Harry gave the softly spoken command, “ _Zit_!” Still the dog’s anxiety at believing his Alpha was being threatened by the irate woman and being held in check from going to assist his missing pack mate, transferred itself up the leash like faint aftershocks Harry could feel in his hand.

Of course the chance of a finding a phone book anywhere near a payphone was as rare as discovering a real gold nugget in a box of _Corn Flakes_. Of course, Harry would have to dig through his wallet to find his mechanic’s business card.

 _I wouldn’t have had to search for anyone’s number, especially a mechanic’s, they were programmed into my phone. My cars were too well maintained. The limo, the Town Car and the others never had mechanical problems, never broke down_.

The former Harold Finch felt brief flashes of anger, frustration and sadness before falling back into defeated acceptance that his former life was gone, probably forever.

_I’m Harry Furnham now, a poorly paid employee of the public school system and owner of a beat up old Ford sitting alongside the road somewhere._

With the cane propped against the wall and the grip of the dog’s leash wrapped around his left wrist, Harry pulled the worn leather billfold from the back pocket of the khakis he had worn today.

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on Rafe’s conversation with the obviously irate and upset woman. She didn’t seem be one to lower her voice even when the few of the diner’s customers looked up from their meals and over at the loud-mouthed woman.

“Sherry, please sit down and I’ll tell you,” Rafe pleaded as he tried to calm the woman down. She dropped onto the booth’s bench seat opposite from Rafe flopping down in a huff and folding her arms across her chest. Harry lowered his eyes going back to search for the mechanic’s card when she looked past Rafe scowling in his direction.

“Okay, I’m waiting. I have a cell phone; you couldn’t call to let me know you were going to run late?”, the woman complained still not bothering to lower her voice, oblivious it seemed to scene she was causing.

“I am sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t leave my apartment when I had planned but still thought I had enough time to get here. I just never planned on…”

The rest of the conversation Harry didn’t pay much attention to once he found the business card. Resuming his phone call by sliding coins into the payphone’s slot he began tapping out the numbers at the dial tone. He had to wait for the answering service to transfer the call to the garage’s emergency after hour’s number. By the time Harry Furnham had spoken to the tow truck operator, given him the address of disabled car and set up a time to meet the driver there, Rafe was obviously finished with his explanation why he had been late getting to the diner.

Sherry was swirling ice in a glass with a plastic straw glaring angrily at the man sitting across from her before she turned the glower in Harry’s direction as he approached the table. Her eyes narrowed a fraction before she gave him an icy smile.

Rissole made to get up to offer Harry his seat when Sherry reached across the table and grabbed Rafe’s hand, “No don’t get up Rafe, _**darling**_ , Mr. Furnham can have my seat. I need to go; one of us needs to show up at the restaurant. I had to use my credit card to make the reservation and The Hanging Gardens charges an outrageous cancellation fee.” The woman really didn’t bother to hide the accusatory stare she gave Harry as she got up, blaming him without saying the words, _this all your damn fault you know?_

Sherry extended her hand to Mr. Furnham after she got up, “I’m sorry to rush off, I would have loved to get to know Rafe’s new **_friend_** here a little better.” She pulled her hand back when Harry couldn’t take it, his hands full with leaning on his cane with one and holding Jack’s leash in the other.

The woman couldn’t get away from the table fast enough when she looked at what was tethered to the other end of the leash and Jack gave her one of his mouth full of wicked teeth doggie sneers and a rumbling deep in his chest.

Harry sat down on the padded bench recently vacated by the fleeing woman. He had been trying to keep it held in check, but once he saw Rafe trying to hide his own amusement over the dog’s ‘greeting’, he burst out laughing, Rafe joining him with his own roars of mirth. Kylie bringing their order stopped their guffaws, but both men still had wide grins on their faces.

_I don’t remember laughing this hard since Arthur and I sang our old MIT song._

Rafe had tried to stop laughing, he really had. Sherry after all was supposed to be his girlfriend, and he shouldn’t be this amused over the woman’s hasty retreat away from Harry’s vicious **_attack_** dog.

_Thank you, Bear. I haven’t heard Harold laugh so hard since I spied on him when he was with his nephew Will._

Rafe became all seriousness when Kylie asked if they needed anything else. “No, thanks, Hon _._ Would you mind asking Carl if he can handle things on his own for a couple of hours? I don’t think I’ll be back when my shift starts.”

“No problem Sugar, we kind of figured you might be late. It was kind of hard to miss the show your girlfriend was putting on. Carl already told me he’ll cover for you until Tom gets here. Sherry called her uncle complaining you and she had a fight. Tom called the diner and when I answered, said to tell you to take the night off if you need to.” Kylie winked at Rafe before seeing to her other tables.

Furnham reached for the sugar dispenser and added his usual one teaspoon full to his tea and then squeezed the lemon slice that was hanging from the edge of the tall glass and began stirring. He was trying not to listen to Rafe and Kylie’s conversation beyond what concerned him, which was Rafe had someone to cover the man’s shift doing whatever Rissole’s job was and time to get his stranded charge home. Nonetheless he didn’t miss the part of the conversation about Rafe getting the rest of the night off and Kylie’s wink. Of course Rafe would need to mend fences with his girlfriend.

The man who was once Harold Finch was so overwhelmed with jealousy and bitter disappointment that he almost knocked over the glass with its contents he’d been stirring.

_Of course John has a new life with new friends… and a **girlfriend**. Why did I ever believe he wouldn’t find someone new? We had only just put what happened with Joss behind us before we were separated again._

Harrington Furnham collected himself and gave Rafe a wan smile as the man started drinking his coffee and paused between swallows asking, “Well _Harry_ , I have the night off apparently. So do we need to get back to your car right away?

The former John Reese wanted to get Finch alone again, to ask how the other man was doing and to find out if Harold even wanted him anymore. Finch **had** tried to get away from him out there in the parking lot.

_I have missed you so much Finch, missed being with you. We had so little time together making up in that hotel room in DC before we were separated again. I am partially to blame for that too. Do you even want me anymore?_

Harry decided they might as well not rush off, the wrecker operator had told Mr. Furnham he wouldn’t be able to leave right away and they had agreed to meet at the disabled Taurus in an hour, “No Mr. Rissole, we have time to finish our drinks and I think I could use another iced tea. I never realized how thirsty I actually am right now. As you can see walking is hard for me and the exertion has left me quite parched. So do you work here?”

_I’m just babbling on. I really don’t want this time here to end. Once John has dropped me off at the brownstone I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Mr. Reese has his new life and is happy, why would he ever want to be with me and be reminded of all the pain associated with our former lives?_

Rafe returned Harry’s with a smile of his own, only with more enjoyment at the prospect of getting to stay awhile longer with his new acquaintance, the happiness reflected in his blue eyes. “Okay let me get Kylie’s attention and she can get us both refills. I am only on my first cup of Joe in my nightly requirement of fifty.”

Rafe chuckled when the man sitting across from him raised a questioning eye. “And yes I do work here. I am the night cook at this place and thankfully I can drink all the coffee I need to for free. I still have a hard time sleeping through the day and some nights get long, extremely boring and tiring. I might doze off in the cooler if I wasn’t caffeine wired.” Rafe laughed an infectious laugh that had Harry following suit right along with him.

_I love to hear you laughing Harold. You always carried the weight of the world on your shoulders so you rarely did and even your smiles were never ones of true happiness. Are you content with your new life? Will my coming back into it bring back that despair you once cocooned yourself in? Is it so wrong of me to need to be back with you, am I that selfish?_

Harry kept the conversation going when the amusement at Rafe’s joke was only big grins on their faces, “No offense meant against this establishment, but the diner doesn’t seem busy enough right now to require it being open twenty-four hours. I can understand why you have little enough to do to keep you active in the wee hours. What is there for you **to** do?”

Kylie the waitress walked up with her carafe of coffee to refresh Rafe’s cup and a fresh glass of teas for Harry. “Don’t let this mild mannered night chef kid you. Once he puts on that apron of his, he becomes the super man who keeps this place open. The diner might be dead now but during the day you can’t find a place to sit.” She waved the hand with the carafe toward the empty lobby. “See that? Tom had to have the dining area renovated because of the standing room only lunch and dinner crowd.”

After the waitress was done praising Rafe’s accolade as superman cook: hero to patrons of Perry’s diner citywide and left to man the cash register, Harry had the tact to look contrite.

“I apologize for my incorrect assumptions, Rafe, what exactly do you do? Furnham face showed regret at his choice of words briefly before that was replaced by sincere interest.

Forty-five minutes later the men got up to leave, Harry deeply impressed at what Rissole’s duties actually were and how Rafe had excelled at them improving the diner’s quality of its fare.

Sitting for so long though wasn’t such a good thing for his back, hip and leg so it was difficult for Harry to get up. Neither man was the least bit concerned with some of the diner’s staff or customers watching as Rafe helped the disabled man up and held onto one arm with one hand the other arm wrapped securely around Harry’s waist as they made their way out into the parking lot.

Harrington Furnham should have been bothered by a virtual stranger holding on to him almost intimately…

_… but Harold Finch leaned into the embrace, letting John bear his weight all the way back out to Rafe’s old truck._

Rafe Rissole was only doing what he needed to do to help the exhausted and obviously hurting disabled man up and out to Rafe’s truck. He was concerned the other may fall and was only supporting Furnham by holding the weaker man up…

_… John Reese filled a want that hadn’t been assuaged in months, holding someone he loved close to him. He was only helping Finch out to Rafe’s vehicle, regardless holding Harold like that felt so right._

Rafe walked his exhausted charge out to the old green Ford, having let go once only long enough to get them both out the diner’s entrance and now to open the passenger door. Jack who had followed the men out the door jumped in first resuming his position on the middle of the seat. Harry couldn’t believe he had forgotten about his constant four legged companion. Jack had been sleeping under the table of the vacant booth behind John while the two men had talked.

Rafe helped the assist dog’s handicapped companion onto the seat and into the truck, anyone passing by only watching a person with disabilities being aided getting into the vehicle.

John was reveling in the intimate caresses disguised as aiding Harold, helping him pull his damaged leg into the vehicle, touches that lingered a little too long on a thigh or knee.

 _I know Finch is exhausted yet he didn’t flinch or pull away when I brushed my hand over his leg and held onto his knee. He didn’t resist the contact_.

Harry sat back against the seat after Rafe closed the door and trotted over talk to an older gentleman in a newer SUV. While waiting for the Rafe to finish chatting with the man who obviously was Tom the manager, Harry absentmindedly stroked Jack’s head.

_Was John touching me affectionately or were my own desires misinterpreting the way he touched my leg, held onto my knee?_

Rafe hopped into the driver’s side, his conversation over, and drove them the too short distance to the disabled old Ford sedan. Each man was hoping for more time with the other, the possibility of this being the very last time they were able to nagging at the back of their minds,.

The younger man asked Harry to stay where he was and jumped out of the truck to give the tow driver the key. Furnham watched Rafe looking under the hood apparently showing the driver what had happened to the Taurus. Rafe glanced over at the passenger in his truck once concern clearly showing in those blue eyes before turning his head back checking something the driver was pointing out.

Harry had no doubt that Rafe had seen for himself the damaged radiator hoses.

Harold knew John wouldn’t let it go. John’s protectiveness of him couldn’t let it go even if his getting involved could put Reese in danger and not from the homophobes that damaged Harry’s car.

It was a silent ride to Furnham’s brownstone, Harry only speaking to give Rafe directions.

When Rafe pulled the truck into Furnham’s empty parking space Harry turned to Rafe to thank him for all his help and Harold had to tell John goodbye, he couldn’t intrude in John’s new existence and possibly endanger his ex-partner’s life in the process, “Thank you, _Mr. Rissole_ for all you’ve done. I better get inside, Martha’s probably worried sick about me. And I am sure you have some troubled waters to calm with your girlfriend?”

Rafe took his hand when Harry offered it, only he held it hard and too long. “No problem. I was happy to _Harry_. You know where to find me if I can do anything for you ever again.”

Harrington Furnham walked the short distance from the curbside and up the three small steps to his door way, each movement felt like he was walking in waist high wet cement. Hearing the truck starting up and pulling away was a like a knife to his heart.

Martha came out her door the moment Harry came through the entry way. “Thank God, I was worried sick about you. What happened?

For the first time in their short acquaintance Harrington politely told her, it was none of her concern and he did not wish to discuss it with her. “I am sorry Martha. I really need to go upstairs and lie down.”

His neighbor stayed outside her own unit long enough to make sure Harry made it up the long flight of stairs and then without out even calling goodnight up to him as usual she went back in her apartment none to gently closing her door behind her.

Harrington was hurting terribly physically and the part that would always be Harold Finch was in even more pain mentally. That part was dying because he had lost Reese again; he had deliberately shut him out of Harrington Furnham’s life.

Before Harry knew it the bottle of single malt he’d purchased for a 'special occasion' was nearly empty. One glass turned into one too many as he drank to try to dull the pain. No matter how much Harry/Harold drank, seeing the despair in John’s eyes while he watched Harry pull a confused Jack out of the truck cab before turning and walking away, was an image that wouldn’t disappear into alcohol induced oblivion. It just became more vivid with its hands around his throat choking him.

He assumed the knock on his door could only be Martha and he tottered in his bare feet, shirt unbuttoned and thinking to himself.

_What the hell. I never invited her up. Let her see the drunk I am._

Only when he opened it, the last thing he expected was a determined Rafe shoving past him into the apartment.

Harry had enough of his faculties left to close the door, but only just enough,

“John, how in the hell did you get in here?” Harold slurred out drunkenly.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you make it here okay? High five if you did. LOL  
> But I promise from here on in.... Rafe will be Rafe and Harry will be Harry.  
> Only when they are completely alone will Harold and John speak.


	5. Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Reese was done with Harold Finch and all the man’s eccentricities. He was Gianni Rissole now and had some cleanup to do in Rafe’s relationships. He’d never set eyes on Harrington Furnham, **the third** , ever again and good riddance. John made it three blocks. He pulled the truck over before beating on the steering wheel and cursing at himself for giving up on the one person in the world who’d never given up on him...until now.
> 
> “You are not getting rid of me that easily Finch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold won't put John in harm's way, excluding John from his new life.  
> Harold blames himself for everything and will not let John shoulder any of it.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/6650.html)

 

* * *

###  [Liquid Courage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1678958/chapters/3948604)

* * *

 

John moved a few steps further into the room, trying to give himself a moment to avoid responding to Finch’s furious demand with an equally heated response. Reese hadn’t come here to argue, just to find out why Harold had done another one-eighty.

The first time Harold had bolted from Rafe’s truck, John had worried that after their initial first meeting in months Finch had fled towards the diner afraid of what danger their being seen together might put them in or even that Finch might not want to be near him anymore. Except Harry had given in and accepted Rafe’s help; Harry Furnham sat with his rescuer; Harold spent precious minutes listening to John; being with him again is what Harold wanted or so Reese had believed.

Also, there in the diner Harold had been jealous at the mention of the girlfriend and that Rafe had been given the night off to ‘patch’ things up. John might be Rafe now, but his instincts were still that of an ex-operative’s;were he hadn’t missed Harry almost knocking over the glass he had been stirring and the pasty smile he’d given Rafe.

When Rissole had helped the exhausted Furnham out to his truck by holding the disabled man close to his side, Harold had clung just as tightly to John and hadn’t resisted Reese’s disguised caresses. Any doubts Harold still wanted Reese were almost erased.

There was no denying the desperation each of them were feeling that their time together again might be short lived. How could they, not with the threat still out there, watching? Regardless, it remained unspoken between them that however brief that reunion might be, Harold was taking John to and into Furnham’s home.

Until Rafe had hopped out of the truck to meet with the tow instead of Furnham and the wrecker driver had pointed out to Mr. Rissole the car’s damaged radiator hoses. When he had jumped back into the pickup Furnham was frosty politeness only speaking to give Rafe directions to his brownstone. Furnham’s thank you and final goodbye, with the annotation on Mr. Rissole going to make up with his girlfriend had shocked and hurt John.

And for the second time that night, their reunion was over. This time Reese had waited and watched from the truck as Finch walked away, willing Harold to turn back, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Are you just going to sit there, Mr. Reese?” Except Harrington Furnham had just limped stiffly up the walkway; only Jack looked forlornly back at John before heeling at his master's side. Rafe had gunned the engine and drove off.

John Reese was done with Harold Finch and all the man’s eccentricities. He was Gianni Rissole now and had some cleanup to do in Rafe’s relationships. He’d never set eyes on Harrington Furnham **, the third** , ever again and good riddance. John made it three blocks. He pulled the truck over before beating on the steering wheel and cursing at himself for giving up on the one person in the world who’d never given up on him...until now.

“You are not getting rid of me that easily Finch!” John growled.

John drove to the old hotel Rafe’s single room was in and called Sherry from the payphone in the so called lobby. She was still upset but didn’t give Rafe much of an argument when he’d firmly told her he would see her the next day. Reese changed into some of Rafe’s dark clothes. To avoid being seen, Reese opened the window and soundlessly descended the fire escape to sneak from the room and the building. Avoiding cameras by taking dark alleys and side streets John was back at Furnham’s brownstone in an hour. Reese had no problems jimmying the latch on the brownstone’s entry door and silently climbing the stairs to Furnham’s apartment.

And now here he was trying to gather himself before answering Harold when Bear came flying from a back room somewhere and started dancing around John, happy to see his Alpha once more. John knelt to greet the canine, rubbing the dog’s head, and crooned, “It’s okay Bear, it’s okay now. I’m here.”

“His name is Jack, his name is Jack now!” Harold stuttered brokenly. He lurched forward mumbling, “How did you get in here?”

As John stood back up he took a quick look around the room. Finch had kicked his shoes off and left them where each had landed. The blazer Harold was wearing earlier was tossed at a chair and missed, landing on the floor; his tie was carelessly discarded on the coffee table.

Next to the tie were a half full tumbler of scotch and a nearly empty fifth of _Johnny Walker_.

John turned to answer but was shocked when he actually took in Harold’s appearance. The man was disheveled, his shirt was hanging off his shoulders unbuttoned, his pant's fly was half open, and his feet were bare–the socks who knew where. Finch’s glasses were gone, his eyes gaunt,  and his face hollowed in. Looking at Harold now reminded Reese of looking in the mirror all those years ago before Finch saved him. It was the reflection of a man who had felt hopeless and had no reason to continue.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me in so I let myself in. I came back to find out what the hell happened earlier. Why did you just shut me out?” John's voice shook, “You think I would just go back to my new life, forget about you?

Finch stumbled forward nearly falling into Reese, caught  his balance by grabbing John’s shirt  and then tried to shove him towards the door. Harold pleaded, his anger from before now deflated, “John, please just go. Forget about me. Go live your life. Be happy! You are free, free from me being the cause of your pain ever again.”

There wasn't much force behind the drunken man's push to get Reese to leave. The overwhelming realization of how far Finch had fallen had stunned John enough that Harold was able to move him at all, still he grabbed the other man's shoulders to hold them both steady.

“You really think that? That I'm happy? John grasped the shoulders tighter, “Look at me Finch! Do I look **happy** to you? Does it look like I want to be free from you?” Harold did with grim eyes in a wasted face. Reese was so overcome with guilt that he was responsible and not the other man for both their misery the past year that it crushed any fight John had left in him to save what they had once had.

Reese dropped his hands then, looked around the room and at the bottle on the table, “You’re right. I should go now. Only you are the one who needs to be free Harold, from all the pain I have caused you.” He reached up and slid his hand inside Finch’s open shirt and over the healed scar on the shoulder wounded all those months ago. “I nearly got you killed.”

John made to push Finch away, to leave Harold find some kind of peace without him, yet the hands still grabbing at his own shirt only tightened. “John...”

Harold refuted Reese's claim, “You saved me.” With an anguished sob he pulled John in raising up trying to kiss him—mouth, slobbery, wet, and tasting of scotch.

Reese tried to resist, Finch wasn't clear headed right now, but his body couldn't. With all good sense abandoning him, John lowered his head and kissed back. Feeling Finch tugging the hem of his tee upwards, John stepped away briefly using his hands to assist Harold's fumbling ones pulling the shirt up over his head.

Somehow in between the desperate kisses and shedding of clothes barring boxers, they made it to the small bedroom. Harold fell onto the bed pulling John along with him. They groped and kissed hotly. Soon the frantic nature of their embrace slowed. Within moments John realized Harold had passed out. His sanity returning, John lay there speaking softly to the apparently unconscious man, “'I’ll always love you.” After kissing Harold sweetly on the lips, probably for the last time, Reese slipped off the bed.

“John, don't go. I need you.” Harold pleaded. His eyes weren't open, but Finch sensed Reese leaving. Leaving would be the wise thing to do, but John hadn't been choosing the right thing to do in months—John pulled the sheet over them both and kissed Harold on the forehead this time. “Sleep, just sleep Finch. I'm not going anywhere,” Reese shushed him. With his head on the other man’s chest and for the first time in months John Reese dozed off just seconds after closing his eyes.

“It's going to be okay, John,” Harold mumbled in his sleep and brushed his thumb over John's   bearded chin.

~~~~~

Reese tried to reach out to silence the annoying bleep--bleep but instead of an alarm clock button his hand smacked into solid wall.

_What the hell?_

John lifted his head, blinking several times trying to clear sleep filled eyes and take in the unfamiliar room.

_Harold?_

The hand that had smacked the wall when he groggily tried to find his alarm was now splayed on a hair covered chest, rising and falling with each breath of the soundly sleeping man it belonged to took. They were in Harold's bed. Actually hearing where the alarm sounds were coming from, John reached behind with that hand and killed the alarm, then placed it over the scar on Finch's right shoulder.

“I should have left. I didn't; you needed me to stay.” John sighed, “Will you feel the same when you wake up?”

Reese had been in Finch's state more than once, well all the time after Jessica and a whole day he couldn’t remember drinking in the weeks after Carter had been killed, enough to know that what Finch needed the most right now was sleep.

Without jostling the bed and disturbing its slumbering occupant, Reese crawled out from under the sheet and made for the bathroom to empty his bladder. He grabbed his pants up off the floor and left the tiny bedroom to raid the apartment's kitchen. Finch would need to drink something, non-alcoholic, and plenty of it. Also, Harold needed to eat even if he didn't have an appetite or wanted food.

There were the makings for a steak and cheese omelet in the freezer and fridge. Rafe the cook was making one of his specialties, when he heard Finch's frantic, “J-John? John? No...No! John!” and something shattering. Reese wasn't armed anymore so he grabbed the knife he had been using and rushed back to the bedroom, his need to protect Harold triggered.

Finch was alone and the noise? The bedside lamp lay broken on the wooden floor, the clock and phone-set had been knocked off the night table to land among the fragments. Harold was sitting up, reaching around blindly trying to find his missing glasses and continuing his panicked cries for John.

Reese left the knife on the bureau. Avoiding the broken glass from the lamp, he scrambled on his knees from the foot of the bed in an attempt to soothe the fear stricken man. He had to avoid Harold's flailing arms but eventually John was able to get through, using his hands to get Finch to look at him, “I'm here, Finch...Harold! Look at me; I’m here.”

“John?” Harold's voice trembled as his terror filled eyes focused on Reese's blue ones, “It is you!” Finch collapsed against John throwing his arms around the solid and real body of the man next to him. Reese's arms circled the cold, sweat-drenched, and frightened man in return.

“I was trying to hold on to you, John, to keep you with me, but no matter how hard I tried, they took you away from me again,” Harold sobbed against Reese’s shoulder. John made shushing noises, spoke in a gentle tone and rubbed his hands over Finch's body attempting to warm the shaking man. “Shh, it was just a dream. No one is going to take me from you.”

John eased Harold back on the bed, pulled off the sweat sodden sheet and covered Finch's still quivering body with his own warm one. By kissing each brow in turn, the prominent nose and tentatively on the lips, John reassured the other man of his presence. His voice was calm and soothing when he asked, “Feel me here with you?”

Hands that had trembled with fear moments earlier fluttered up John's back before pulling his head closer to return the tentative kiss with a more passionate one of Harold's own. The two moaned into each other's mouths and opened them to taste the other; their tongues tangled, both giving and taking.

Frenzied groping and kissing like the night before soon had both men hot and hard. John moved over on his side to ask breathlessly, as he palmed the outline of Harold's cock in his briefs, “Is this okay?” Finch's eyes were glazed over with passion only as he nodded yes. John raised up on his knees to quickly shuck off his pants and his boxers. He pulled Harold's down below the hips before covering Harold again chest to chest.

Like in his dream John rutted against the body below him, his forehead nestled under a bristled jaw with fingers being carded through his hair. Yet unlike the dream while using his hand to reach between them he stroked them both to completion, semen covering both their stomachs.

John moved off on his side again, spooning next to Harold's left. They lay there minutes, hours maybe, before Harold asked, “What are we going to do now John?”

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got away from my original intent, strangers (not really) meeting, getting to know one another....falling in love....boy did I get away so....................  
> okay no more angsty stuff, it's Harry and Rafe's story from now on.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Should I even continue? Did I lose everyone?


	6. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are we going to do John?” Harold repeated anxiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, I decided finally to keep on with this fic.  
> Not completely beta read. Mistakes are mine completely.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/6887.html)  
> 

 

“What are we going to do John?” Harold repeated anxiously.

Reese leaned over and kissed Harold's forehead, before caressing the older man's face gently, “For now I am going to shimmy my butt back out of this bed and clean up the floor. You are going to take a shower while I get dressed.”

Finch peered into John's loving blue eyes, momentarily content, feeling safe and secure enveloped in the aura of Reese's protectiveness that was surrounding him now. It was John's inclination to safeguard Harold, even at the risk of the former operative's life, which wrenched that peace from him and back into reality.

Harold frowned at his dilemma. He hadn't fared well with Reese gone from his life these past six months; that Finch couldn't deny, he needed John back in it. Yet, how could he allow the other man into Furnham's? Harrington's problems were small so far and certainly out the purview of Samaritan, but could Harold take even the slightest risk that the situation might not be the case. What if the surveillance system had already deemed those acts deviant behavior not within its parameters therefore to be ignored and the issues escalated making ** _it_** take a harder look? Finch was ready to accept the consequences if their cover identities were blown; but what about John?

Of course Reese would be ready and willing to die along with Harold if it came to that. Only the last love of Finch's lifetime wasn't known as John Reese anymore; John was Gianni Rafael Rissole now. Rafe had a seemingly ordinary happy life with friends and a girlfriend. Harold really didn't want to live what might be left of the rest of his days alone and miserable, but could he deny John a chance of normality with the possibility of having the family Finch knew Reese had always wanted?

Reese watched distress replacing the contentment on his partner's face. As if reading Harold's thoughts, John gripped the other man's chin forcing troubled pale blue eyes to look into his own unyielding serious ones, “I am not leaving you again, not ever! We'll work something out. Now...” Reese let go of the grip he had and smiled, chuckling a bit before slapping Finch cheerily on the cheek, “how about that shower and some breakfast?”

John crawled his way to the end of the bed not waiting for an answer. Standing, turning and then tugging off the boxers Harold still wore bunched around his knees, Reese hurled them playfully at the other man's head deliberately missing so they landed inoffensively on the bed next to him. John literally skipped out of the room laughing playfully at Harold's feeble effort to fling the offending undergarment back at him and hilariously at Finch's affronted, “Mr. Reese, please!”

Finch watched his lame effort of a throw land awry on the bureau missing John by a good three feet and he couldn't keep from laughing too, until the headache hit him.

He had been imbibing for months; drinking—to just dull the pain—Harold had told himself over and over. Only last night Finch had realized as he poured that first drink it never was to ease the ache of his old injuries or the throbbing in his wounded shoulder, it was to get through the strain of loneliness until he could be with John again.  

Through an act of hate directed at Furnham they had been reunited, met as the people they were pretending to be now. The name was different, his outward appearance had changed but underneath Rafe was still John and that man would protect Harold Finch or Harrington Furnham no matter what. One of them had a chance to live an ordinary existence so Furnham had said goodbye and walked away. Believing John Reese was gone from his life forever; Harold having tried to make sure of that; Finch had crawled into the bottle of scotch not caring if he ever escaped.

Except Reese had returned, determined to find out why Finch had shut him out of his new life. John blamed himself after seeing the depths his friend had sunk to and tried to leave. Harold remembered begging with hungry demanding kisses for John to stay before falling onto the bed with his younger, stronger and equally desperate partner… Then the nightmares had come; Finch had awakened alone and terrified. Reese had rushed to him calming Harold's fears with touches and warmth, first from John's hands then the long strong length his body. Both men needed to finish what they had started last night, desperately rutting against one another, the evidence of their completion dried on the skin and hair of Harold's abdomen.

Now here he was lying naked on a sweat stiffened wrinkled sheet, dried semen on his stomach and not able to get up because of the shambles his room was in. Finch was loathe to move his head for fear it would split right open and the thought of food was making his insides roil. Yet at this moment Harold was the most content he had been in months. John was here with him.  The man wasn't going to walk away now, no matter how much Finch tried to force him, not that Harold even wanted that anymore, apprehensions aside. They would work something out, together.

John returned minutes later, wearing jeans and shoes, carrying a broom and pulling Harrington's large kitchen trash can behind him.

Harold tried to sit up, but let his head fall back on the pillow stifling a groan and closing his eyes. Reese grimaced with understanding, before stooping to pick up the larger pieces of the broken lamp and dumping them into the trash. John tried to clean up the mess as quietly as he could, but Harold winced at every sound. “Been there. Done that,” Reese sympathized with his miserable friend, squeezing his shoulder. “Trust me, a shower and one of Rafe's specialty breakfasts will fix you up in no time.”

Finch clenched his eyes tightly shut while listening to Reese sweeping up splinters of glass from the broken lamp and its bulb while mentally willing his churning stomach to keep its contents down.

“Come on, up you go. Let's get you in that shower,” John tugged at Harold's right hand with his left pulling him to sit, while using his right to pull the prone man's legs across and over the edge of the bed. When Finch whined in complaint, trying to fall sideways back on the pillow, John grabbed both of the other man's hands and pulled him to standing.

Harold felt himself swaying on unsteady feet as he tried to stagger in the bathroom’s direction, when John picked up his left arm, hoisting it across the taller man's broad shoulders.

With the left arm of the reeling man held firmly over the back of his neck, left hand gripped tightly in John's right; his left across Finch's back, he managed to get both of them in the small bath. Reese had Harold grab the sink counter’s edges with both hands to hold him up while John turned the walk-in shower's faucets on.

The water wasn't ice cold, closer to lukewarm actually, but Harold still sputtered a few explicit words in Reese's direction when he helped the wobbly man into the shower. Still the other man nodded an affirmative when John asked him if he could do the rest on his own before Reese quickly shut the plastic curtain.

Reese wiped the condensation that was building up on the mirror regardless of the shower's water temperature and looked at his reflection, while shaking his head. Harold was suffering a hangover that probably rivaled some that Reese had after binges during his early drinking days. Finch wasn't clear-headed right now and despite John's declaration he wasn't leaving him ever again, a sobered Harold might decide now was not the time for them to be together, if ever. John wouldn't agree; hell, he would fight it tooth and nail. Nevertheless, when all was said and done he would respect Finch's decision; Rafe would forget the stranded limping man he had helped one night. Any more intimacies between them now would only make another separation that much harder to bear.

Yet all Reese longed to do right now was to shed his clothes, join his partner in the shower and show Finch physically how much he still wanted him. Even though John had tried to avert his eyes and clinically touch the other's nude body while helping him up, Reese was having a hard time suppressing his libido. He needed Harold and despite telling his self mentally how much this was such a bad idea, John’s body wasn’t listening.

Harold leaned against the cool tiling of the shower wall. He tilted his head up, eyes closed, to let the tepid water coming from the shower nozzle splash his face. Once the initial shock of the cooler water hitting his heated skin had worn off, the spray running over his head, then down his chest and back actually did start to make him feel better. The hammering in his head reduced itself to a dull, tolerable thrum. Finch could open his eyes without everything spinning and stand without the tile floor seeming to rock underneath his feet.

As the cascading water flowed over him and Harold sobered up some, he knew it was crazy to want Reese this badly still. They had to work their situation out, take things slow, find a way to be together and not draw unwanted attention. Only now as he used the bath sponge filled with Harrington’s body wash to scrub the dried remnants of this morning’s frantic love making off his stomach Harold imagined it was John’s hand washing him. Finch moved his free hand down to circle himself and stroked his hardening shaft with soapy fingers, a sobbed, “John…” escaping his lips.

Reese turned his head away from the mirror’s reflection hearing his name called. It wasn’t a cry of distress or for assistance but one of need; John recognized that having heard it in his partner’s voice just this morning. Instead of giving in to his own urges he grabbed the edges of the sink’s wooden cabinet tightly, calling out as if Finch was merely asking Reese if he was still there in the bath, “You okay? I’m still out here if you want anything.”

Finch dropped his hand and started vigorously scrubbing himself, snapped out of his daydream by John’s question. “I’m fine…I’m almost done. If you wouldn’t mind, there are clean towels in the closet.” This is good he thought, John understands we need to discuss our situation first. Only why am I disappointed?

When Harold turned the faucets off, ready to step out of the shower, John excused himself from the room, “There’s a towel next to the sink. If you’re sure you will be good on your own now, I’m going to finish fixing our breakfast.”

Finch was all alone in the tiny room when he stepped from the shower. Using the towel from the sink’s counter top, he briskly dried himself off and pulled on Harry’s worn terry cloth robe. Not wanting to forestall what needed to be done any longer, Harold forwent any Finch or Furnham etiquette of dressing before eating, slipped on his house shoes and gingerly walked through Harrington’s living room into the kitchen.

John was fully dressed now and standing at the small apartment stove attentively preparing something, the smell of which surprisingly enough made Finch feel hungry instead of nauseous.  The scraping of the wooden dining chair across the kitchen floor as Harold pulled it out to sit alerted the _cook_ to his presence in the small kitchen. Reese only lifted an eyebrow for a moment noticing Finch’s state of dress before he moved the short distance from stove to table. John slid the chair out further before helping Harold to sit down; he then pushed chair and occupant closer to the table, Reese trying to be the perfect gentleman.

John returned to the stove checking the contents of an omelet pan Finch hadn’t even known Harrington owned. Apparently satisfied the pan’s contents were done _Rafe_ slid the omelet onto a plate left warming on the stove. Once he’d emptied the remaining contents of a mixing bowl into the pan, the fixings for another omelet, John opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher.

Pouring what appeared to be tomato juice into a tall glass, he urged Finch to drink up. Harold took an unsuspecting sip and then glared up at Reese who was obviously trying to hold in his laughter, when Finch spluttered out, “What in hell is this?”

“It’s just some ‘hair of the dog’ minus the hair,” John chuckled a bit before finishing more seriously, “Trust me, drink it down. It tastes terrible but it will help.” Of course Finch did trust him and sip by god-awful sip he had downed the full glass by the time _Rafe the cook_ had prepared the rest of his breakfast creation. Harold didn’t know if it was the secret ingredients in the hangover cure or if he was actually hungry but when Reese placed a plate of omelet and wheat toast in front of him, Finch was ravenous.

As Reese watched Harold eating and drinking refill after refill of water John poured from another pitcher, he couldn’t help feeling relieved. John had been there once in that deep dark place Harold had went last night when all hope has been lost. John strengthened his resolve to not walk out of Finch’s new life as Furnham no matter how much Harold tried to convince him otherwise. Just as Finch had once pulled him from that abyss, Reese would hold onto Harold with all his strength and never let go.

Mentally arming himself with counterarguments to anything Finch could bring up to convince him to walk out that door and never look back, John was totally unprepared for Harold pushing his empty plate to the side, looking at Reese clear eyed and sure, “I can’t let you disappear from this new life of mine and I will to do anything to keep you in it. I am not going to pretend any longer that I can survive without you. The only thing I ask in whatever we decide to do now is that you let me handle my, Furnham’s, trouble on my own. We can’t dare to risk even the slightest chance of drawing Samaritan’s attention to our new covers. And this goes without being said, we have to be these people, John Reese and Harold Finch can’t exist…for now.”

John believed he understood all the implications of what Finch meant by their old lives and that relationship couldn’t be for now. Gianni Rafael ‘Rafe’ Rissole nodded his head and offered his hand to Harrington ‘Harry’ Furnham, III. “I’m honored to meet you Mr. Furnham.”

Harold smiled broadly, realizing John interpreted what he had suggested, and took the proffered hand, and shook it, “Likewise Mr. Rissole.”

“Call me Rafe, please? All my friends do.” Rissole returned the smile.

“Rafe it is then. My friends call me Harry.”

Rafe Rissole laughingly declined to address the other man as Harry; John Reese had hated Root calling Finch that. “The name Harry brings back some rather unpleasant memories for me. Harrington or Furnham is too much, how about I just call you Trey?”

Maybe as Harold Finch he would have been offended to be addressed in such a way but he wasn’t Finch anymore and that name sounded perfect. “I’d like that…Rafe. Now I think I should get dressed and we can talk further.”

He was in the bedroom only having just put on clean boxers and was pulling up a pair of old _Levi's_  when Furnham heard a knock at his door. Looking at the time Harry remembered that Martha’s grandson was due to take Jack for a run in the park. He started guiltily, with everything happening, he’d forgotten about the dog. Hastily finishing Harry tried to get to the door, only he was too late. Rafe had already answered.

“Um…hi. I’m here to take Jack for his run,” the confused teen looked at Rafe, then at Harry's half-dressed state.

Well here goes Harrington thought. "Sorry Jacob, it slipped my mind. My car broke down on my way home from work. This is Mr. Rissole, Rafe; he was kind enough to help last night and returned this morning to see how I was doing.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I promise from now on Rafe and Harry (Rafe's Trey) are good together. It's their "friends" from now on with issues.


	7. First Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello young man. May I have a word with you?” the matronly woman asked politely. The diffidence in her voice was belied by the steely look she gave Rafe, a stare which asserted that refusal of the request was not an option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog is happy the pack is back together, Harry had momentary doubts, but how does Rafe deal with Harry's new guardian angel?
> 
>  [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/7068.html)

 

Jack came charging out of the bedroom turned office he slept in most nights when Harry _wasn’t feeling well._

In his dog’s world, Jack’s Alpha had returned last night and he had danced excitedly around his pack’s leader. The service dog was eager for attention until Jack had sensed the tension between Alpha and Alpha's mate. The Alpha's mate had been entrusted into Jack's safekeeping by the Alpha many months ago. The canine had returned to his bed to let his two legged pack members work things out among themselves like they always did.

Only when Jack had heard his charge’s panicked cries did the dog leave the room to go to him and jump up on the bed to offer the human comfort as the loyal canine had often done since coming to this place. Jack stopped in the doorway of the office as Alpha rushed by; when the dog crept to lie quietly in the bedroom’s entry, he watched and listened, ears twitching, his nose sniffing the air. Alpha was there taking over the canine’s duty, calming the dog’s frightened ward. As the scent of the human’s mating reached his keen nose Jack went back to his own bed curling up, then falling asleep, contented all would be well within the pack.

There in his bed Jack had stayed for hours, waiting patiently, not wanting to disturb his human pack mates. The dog was well mannered, staying where he was until called, but training was all but forgotten when Jack heard his friend at the door. Jack was desperate to go out.

Alpha used to run with him; Jack’s instinct was to not challenge pack rules, so the dog pleaded with wide brown eyes for the leader’s permission. When the leash was snapped to his collar and handed to the young human, Jack thanked the tall man with a lap of his tongue over his Alpha’s hand. With a happy yip directed at glasses man, the other member of pack, Jack tugged the leash pulling his young companion out the door.

Rafe glanced over at Harry stifling a laugh behind his hand when all they heard was, “I’ll have him back in two hours!” echoing up the stairwell before the brownstones entry door slammed shut.

Harry looked back grinning himself, that is until guilt about forgetting his four legged companion made him frown. “I’ve never done that, let Jack’s needs slip my mind. I better finish getting dressed,” he mumbled turning to limp back into the bedroom.

Furnham was sitting on his bed pulling on an old blue athletic tee, the school’s name in faded lettering barely visible across its front, when Rafe politely knocked at the door.

“I know you wanted to talk and so do I. Is it alright if I come by later this evening before I go to work, or better yet tomorrow, the diner is closed Sundays? It’s getting late and I need to go calm the waters with Sherry, the woman you met last night.” Rafe shifted nervously from one foot to the other in obvious discomfort even mentioning her name.

“Oh yes, of course, your girlfriend." Harold nodded then gave his full attention to his worn Adidas to hide the uncontrolled flash of jealousy. "She was rather upset with me I think. Give her my sincere apologies for ruining your date.”

Rafe walked over and sat down on the bed next to his new found _friend_. “There is nothing serious in my relationship with Sherry, believe me. I have no idea why she acted like she did. Obviously there are some things that need to be sorted out between her and me.” Rafe laid his hand casually on Furnham’s knee, “But there is something significant happening between you and me. We can’t ignore it, right?” Rafe moved his hand up somewhat and squeezed Harry’s thigh, “Right?” 

“No. I mean yes, we can’t ignore it,” Harry admitted cautiously. He continued looking down at the hands he kept folded in his lap even after the other man had sat down next to him. Discounting their supposed new found attraction was the last thing he wanted, but Furnham had to be sure; there was no going back after this. Tentatively placing a palm over Rafe’s hand now subtly caressing his leg, Harry searched the bearded man’s blue eyes for any lingering doubts, “If you are sure this is what you want?”

“Of course it is what I want!” Rafe patted the hand that was covering his own on Harry’s thigh with his left. Turning his right palm up, he clasped the smaller, slightly trembling hand between both his larger, stronger ones. Rafe squeezed it firmly, reassuring Harry that was indeed what he wanted, before he smoothly let go and stood up.

“So, Sunday around noon I am coming over and we are going on a picnic.” Rafe gathered his stuff, putting on his jacket and checking his appearance in the mirror by the door. “We need to talk, Jack needs some exercise with both of us and you need to eat.” He turned a bright smile Harry’s way. “So? It’s a date?”

Any apprehension Furnham had been feeling that he was an interloper in his new friend’s social life or guilt that he was ruining the possible meaningful relationship Rafe had with this Sherry by his getting involved with the handsome younger man evaporated instantly.

Rafe’s determination to show Harry that a continued involvement between the two men was definitely what Rafe wanted, the effervescence radiating from bearded man’s eyes and his outright eagerness to spend time with Harry, so pleased the older man that he nodded enthusiastically and smiled himself.

Rafe grinned from ear to ear, “Great!” With one fluid stride he moved closer to where Harry still sat, bent over and cupped one cheek while quickly kissing the other, then turned to stride out the door leaving the older man blushing and touching his cheek like a schoolgirl.

Harry smiled shyly to himself then frowned slightly, _A date? I haven’t been on a date in years._

Rafe was whistling and skipping down the stairs when he sensed a foreboding presence at the bottom. He slowed down and silently wished he still carried a gun. Once he made it to the landing, the only person he saw there was a middle aged woman, standing in her doorway, arms folded.

 _This must be Martha._ She had iron gray hair, was a little older than her upstairs’ neighbor, stood ramrod straight, and Rafe thought the woman could make lesser individuals cower in her presence.

“Hello young man. May I have a word with you?” the matronly woman asked politely. The diffidence in her voice was belied by the steely look she gave Rafe, a stare which asserted that refusal of the request was not an option.

It briefly flitted through Rafe’s mind that he could graciously refuse, claiming he was running late as an excuse. He took a deep breath to steady himself, admitting mentally he was only putting off the inevitable. Rafe nodded an affirmative and followed Martha’s inviting wave to enter the open door of her apartment.

Martha showed her guest to her living room offering Rafe a seat on her sofa, “Would you like some coffee?” the woman asked pleasantly, “I just made a fresh pot.” The woman gave Rafe another once over, “You look like someone who needs a strong cup of coffee to get them going in the morning and I know Harry only drinks tea.” She hustled off into her kitchen to get Rafe’s, “Yes please, black.”

So, Rafe thought, no point in pretending he had just stopped by to see how Furnham was faring after last night’s car troubles. The woman obviously knew Rafe had spent the night and morning with her neighbor, that it was not concern about Harry’s welfare after the prior evening’s mishap that brought him here.

When Martha returned she placed a steaming cup of hot black coffee on the table in front of him before taking a seat on the sofa’s matching recliner. Rafe wasn’t surprised when the woman dropped any more attempts at pleasantry, her eyes bored into him as she got directly to the point.

“Harry is one of the sweetest, kindest men I have ever met and in the few months I have known him he has become almost a part of my family. I have come to care for him dearly.” The woman paused for a moment, allowing Rafe to take a sip of his coffee, before she laid into him with the fierce protectiveness of any mother defending her cub.

“Harry’s life hasn’t been easy the past few years, especially after his accident. I’ve tried to do my best to help him believe things will get better, but he is still so close to the edge of just giving up.”  Martha paused long enough to collect herself, “When Harry came home last night, when he just shut me out instead of talking to me about what happened like we always do, I could tell something had pushed him over that cliff. If you had anything to do with that, if you are just toying with him, please, go, now, and never come back!”

Rafe sat his cup back on the table, responding to her accusing words of warning as candidly as he could, “I am truly thankful Harrington has such a fierce friend such as yourself, but I assure you I have no intention of toying with him as you put it or hurting him in any way.” Rafe returned the woman’s glare, resolute when he added, “I might be leaving for now but I will be coming back, for as long as **he** wants me to.”

Harry’s self-anointed guardian scrunched up her eyes, sizing the younger man up once again as Rafe sat unwavering under her scrutinizing gaze. The breath he had unconsciously held while the woman mentally dissected him whooshed out in relief when she sat back in her chair and smiled. “That is all I needed to hear.”

“Oh heavens, where are my manners?” Gone was the interrogator, a kindly _little old lady_ taking her place as the gray haired woman laughed warmly. “My name is Martha Carlson. I didn’t get yours Mr. uh…”

***

Rafe had spent a pleasant half hour talking with Harry’s downstairs neighbor after having passed muster with the woman. Martha obviously cared a great deal about Harrington Furnham, III. By the time he had left the two of them had mutually agreed that making Harry’s life less miserable and lonely was of utmost importance.

He stopped by the café briefly, calling Sherry from there, before swinging by his cracker box apartment to shower and change. Now Rafe was outside Sherry’s condo, only feeling uncomfortable because he had never been inside; they had never gotten to that level of intimacy. He’d just faced down Harry’s fierce guardian angel, telling Sherry he was no longer wanting to continue their arrangement shouldn’t be nearly as difficult, should it?

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think the iron lady was tough? She was a picnic compared to Sherry's reaction to Rafe's new _friendship_.


	8. Sherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherry seemed cheery enough, being the perfect hostess; hopefully the woman was over what had set off her unusual behavior the evening before. But that was wasted optimism on his part. When she gave him his coffee and sat on the lavishly upholstered divan a few feet away that faced the windows, the stormy ice queen that had ripped into him at the diner and gave Harry the-- _if looks could kill_ \--stare was back in full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last the 'breakup'.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/7277.html)

 

Rafe pulled open the ornately decorated metal security screen and softly knocked on the gold filigreed dark oak wooden door forgoing using the doorbell. Sherry was expecting him, so the increasingly uneasy man hoped she would recognize the rap at the door as being him not some unexpected guest or stranger and immediately let him in.

He didn’t understand completely why he was feeling this way; anyone familiar with either one of them knew they were seeing each other casually. Although there weren’t any of their acquaintances around, lurking in the shadows, Rafe was unreasonably paranoid they were. He certainly didn’t want anyone jumping to conclusions, assuming things had turned serious between the two with his showing up at her home.

Least of all he didn’t want rumblings centered on incorrect assumptions, that he and Sherry were now intimately involved, to reach Harrington’s ears. Even though the older man had readily agreed to the two of them pursuing their own relationship, Rafe knew how Harry was. If he entertained the slightest idea, even if it was a misconception, that Rafe could be or was happier with someone else, Furnham would retreat from Gianni Rissole’s life for good. Rafe would never be happy without Harry, now that he had found the other man again; he just needed time to prove it.

Where would that time come from? Most hours in a day, Rafe was either at work or at home sleeping or trying to. The rest, if he wasn’t taking care of personal obligations, he had spent with Sherry just going somewhere to eat or for entertainment. Neither of them was interested in anything beyond friendship or so Rafe had thought. After the woman’s reaction to his being late yesterday evening and her less than amiable greeting to Harrington, Rafe wasn’t so sure. Perhaps that was another reason for his increasing unease as he waited outside her door. This wouldn’t be so much as an agreement to terminate their mutual arrangement but more of a break-up, at least from her side of things.

One less problem at least, Rafe didn’t have long to wait and worry about being seen or worse yet have unfounded rumors spreading from uninformed tongues. Rumors he did not want reaching Harry’s ears once Rafe introduced the other man into the small circle of his new life. It wasn’t much but Rafe was content with it, except for that feeling of emptiness that permeated his soul when he was alone, lying awake instead of sleeping. That void Rafe had felt himself wandering in all alone had been filled briefly last night as he had slept soundly for the first time in months curled against the solid warmth of another human being. He needed Harrington Furnham in his life—all of it.

Within a minute the door cracked a few inches and then was fully opened after Sherry released the chain lock inviting him in, before she turned to head back into her living room expecting Rafe to follow her. 

Rafe accepted Sherry’s offer of a cup of coffee and took a seat in a rocker recliner placed in front of the living room window, the only solid looking piece of furniture in the otherwise totally feminine and fragile décor, as he awaited her return.

Sherry seemed cheery enough, being the perfect hostess; hopefully the woman was over what had set off her unusual behavior the evening before. But that was wasted optimism on his part. When she gave him his coffee and sat on the lavishly upholstered divan a few feet away that faced the windows, the stormy ice queen that had ripped into him at the diner and gave Harry the— _if looks could kill —_stare was back in full force.

Rafe tried to start out by humbly apologizing, “I should have called you before I left my apartment; I was already running late and you could have made other arrangements with the restaurant. I tried to hurry as I really didn’t want to make you wait longer than necessary. Then I saw the abandoned car and further on, Furnham and his dog walking along the shoulder of the road. I couldn’t just ignore a disabled man stranded on foot. I would have tried to let you know if we weren’t headed for the diner anyways. I truly am sorry for the delay and upsetting you so much.”

 “You think keeping me waiting doing your Good Samaritan act is why I was so upset and angry?” fumed the woman Rafe thought was only a friend as she eyed him with disbelief.

“We have been going out with each other for months and you’ve never been late. As far as I know you haven’t been seeing anyone else either,” she ranted on her face beginning to flush in anger, “But, there I was, worrying something awful had happened. Then what do I see? That crappy green pickup pulling into the diner parking lot, before you and **that** man get out of it. I or anyone else looking out the diner’s windows would assume they were watching the two of you having some kind of lover’s quarrel!”

 “That wasn’t what it was. I tried to tell you…” Rafe was forced to stop mid-sentence as the incensed woman rudely broke in continuing her on with her tirade.

“Oh, really!? Damn It! I tried to get your attention, I wanted you to tell me what did happen, but you were too busy ogling that man’s ass to hear me. You think I didn’t see your nearly fall off the booth’s seat trying to look around me?”

Sherry lowered her voice and her eyes, watching herself twist one of the jeweled rings on her finger, “I planned on apologizing for my behavior when I thought you were stopping by, my uncle having given you the night off so we could work things out. So I waited and waited.” Sherry looked up again and although she was still speaking lowly, her fury was barely contained; her face reddened even more in anger as she hissed, “When you never showed I called the café because there is no other way for me to contact you directly…Why is that?...and Kylie answered the phone. She innocently informed me you had left and she had no idea where to. That woman never liked seeing the two of us together and that mouthy little waitress just had to make sure I knew that you and that, **that man** were pretty chummy when you left.”

Rafe blinked several times, clamped his mouth tightly closed to avoid lashing out in return and looked out the window into the lovely courtyard of the condominium complex. The rest of her tirade drowned out as he thought about what Sherry said. Rafe questioned when he had become so transparent. Yes, he loved the man now calling himself Harrington. Yes, they were having what looked to be a lover’s quarrel. Yes, Rafe had totally disregarded Sherry’s presence in front of him, so focused that he was on making sure Harrington was all right (and of course checking out that lovely backside), but Rafe used to be able to hide those kind of actions. Maybe all the months he had spent without Harry in his life had softened those skills. He no longer had to fight displaying the emotions openly that being so close to Harold brought.

More of Sherry’s grumblings snapped Rafe out of his thoughts on why things had changed and onto the problem now at hand. Right this moment Rafe had to set the woman straight and remind her that he wasn’t; straight that is.

“Now listen here!” Rafe broke in silencing the woman as her mouth dropped. “Please listen?” Rafe pleaded softly. “I am grateful that you understood I wasn’t interested in any kind of serious relationship when we first became friends. I wasn’t ready for that, but I didn’t want to hide away from life either. I really appreciated having someone to get out and do things with who didn’t expect anything more from me than friendship or pressure me into something I just wasn’t ready for romantically. For that I will always be grateful and you will always hold a place in my heart as the dear friend I have come to care for deeply.”

Rafe set down his coffee and stood up. He paced a few steps away and turned around putting his hands on his hips, his words a stern warning “As my friend you should be thankful I finally found someone I can be interested again. You should be glad he lifts me from that dark hole of depression you know I was in. And you won’t talk about Harrington like that ever again. Not to me, not to Harrington and especially not behind our backs.”

Sherry paused a moment longer, still open mouthed and glared at Rafe, her eyeballs seeming to protrude right out of their sockets. Her face turned an even deeper red before she shrieked, “Finally interested? You think a short, dumpy geek who looks like a reject from the Bill Nye the Science Guy Show is interesting? What have I been these last few months?”

Rafe was floored. “You are interesting but we…” Rafe moved his hand back and forth between them to show he meant Sherry and himself, “We were tired of being set up on blind dates and agreed to see each other as friends for a cover story.”

Rafe watched her bite down hard on her bottom lip before she actually blew air out her nostrils like an angry bull and snorted. “I never said that. I said that I was tired of my Uncle setting me up with losers. I can get a date! I can get a man just fine! Thank you very much.” She bobbed her head from side to side in a snippy manner making her hair flounce around. “My uncle doesn’t approve of most of my boyfriends. I need to stay in his good graces. Besides, I never said you weren't my type. I never said I wasn’t interested in you.”

Rafe shook his head at the misunderstanding between them, the need to further argue dissipated. Rafe sat down heavily on the nearest chair, a delicate pink Queen Anne chair complete with a lace skirt, arm doilies and two throw pillows of playful kittens on their covers. “But I told you I wasn’t looking for a romantic partner.”

Sherry leaned back into her seat and crossed her arms defensively. “I know! You said you weren’t ready for a commitment. I figured that maybe if I stayed close and helped you through this rough patch that...” At this point Sherry herself lost the wind in her sails and she looked slightly sheepish. “I thought that when you were ready for love again I would be right there. You would have to look no further. And now, now I find out you friend-zoned me! This whole time I was waiting for you to be ready and turns out you aren’t even looking for a woman!” She turned her face away and chewed her lip again.

“Sherry…”Rafe’s voice softened with understanding and some regret. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Rafe thought he had made it known from the start; no romance, no love, not for them. He couldn’t understand why Sherry had believed that his ‘no’ could ever mean ‘someday’. But no matter the misunderstanding, she was still the closest thing to a best friend he had. Rafe really needed her support with Harrington being his ‘boyfriend’ not her animosity towards Rafe’s love interest. Having Sherry accept and welcome Harry as a friend not a rival would help somewhat smooth the way in the already rocky beginnings to Rafe’s new romance.

“Sherry. I am sorry you had hoped that we would be more. I thought our friendship meant something to you. I know it meant the world to me and you’ll probably never know how much I needed a friend in one of the lowest points in my life. You have been my lifeline. I never meant for you to be upset. I had hoped that you would have guessed I wasn’t interested in women anymore. And yeah, I like my guys short and nerdy.” He shrugged self-consciously his face blushing bright pink. “I don’t know why, but the science teacher look is hot, at least to me.”

Sherry looked at Rafe, assessing the man’s attributes thoughtfully. He was a tall, handsome and intelligent man who could attract (he certainly had her) any woman’s or even certain men’s interest that had a chance to meet him and Rafe could choose any one of them if he wanted. He was strong; she had watched him heft things like they weighed nothing that others could barely lift. He was brave; many times Rafe had stepped in to help when anyone else would have turned away. If anyone could be called a man’s man it would be Gianni ‘Rafe’ Rissole. Yet here was this man among men sitting back in her frilly pink chair and blushing like a schoolgirl over a nerdy little man with a limp. The whole idea was absurd, and picturing the over six foot tall man bending down to kiss the much shorter Furnham was ludicrous. So absurd, so silly, it was adorable. Sherry watched Rafe a moment longer before smiling in understanding, “You have it bad for him, don’t you?”

Rafe looked at her and nodded. In her eyes was what he had hoped to see. Sherry at heart was a hopeless romantic, always wanting star-crossed lovers to be together. Once she got over her own disappointment that the two of them were never meant for each other, Sherry would be the first one in line to do anything to make sure the unlikely couple of ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and ‘nerdy science teacher’ would find true love and their happily ever after.

“Yes.” Rafe admitted confiding in his friend. “I need him too and he needs me. It’s just…”

“I didn’t help with my theatrics last night,” Sherry offered apologetically while getting up and crossing over to the window to look out.

Rafe laughed feebly, “Well it wasn’t the highlight of the night obviously.” Rafe stood and moved over to where she looked out upon the terrace. He reached out and touched her arm to get Sherry to look at him. “I can’t explain why, at least right now, but Harry has this insane idea that he’s not good enough for me, that I deserve something, someone better in my life. I just need time and maybe some assist from my best friend to convince him otherwise.” Rafe batted his long lashes and smiled with just the smallest turning up at the corners of his mouth, “Will you help me?”

“You keep looking at me like that, I may change my mind and resume going after you myself,” Sherry laughed teasingly. “Of course I’ll help you, you big lug!” She then opened up her arms and gave her relieved, thankful and best friend forever a reassuring hug.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have Sherry be an ongoing protagonist, but John/Rafe chooses his friends wisely.  
> Sherry is with misunderstandings aside Rafe's best friend and Rafe needs someone in his corner.


	9. Late Lunches and Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry remained sitting on the bed listening to the retreating sounds of Rafe’s footfalls on the stairs outside his apartment door and to the sound of Rafe’s cheery whistling tapering off as well. The frown on his face as Harry thought about going on a date at his age, granted it was just a picnic, only lasted a moment before being replaced by a wide grin as the older man harrumphed to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter before dates galore, starting with a picnic and ????  
> But first...Harry and his BFF.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/7498.html)

Harry remained sitting on the bed listening to the retreating sounds of Rafe’s footfalls on the stairs outside his apartment door and to the sound of Rafe’s cheery whistling tapering off as well. The frown on his face as Harry thought about going on a date at his age, granted it was just a picnic, only lasted a moment before being replaced by a wide grin as the older man harrumphed to himself.  

The broken, middle-aged nothing to look at, no great catch that he was had a date. Rafe had assured him that he, Harry Furnham, was who the admirable and incredibly handsome man wanted to be with. The girlfriend, Sherry, was quite lovely and Harry was reasonably sure had a personality to match—regardless of how she reacted last night, Rafe wouldn’t have gotten involved with her otherwise—to be chosen over a person like that, well Harry couldn’t help but feel euphoric.

_Yes, John chose me once before over another beautiful, talented, good woman who would have been perfect for him. My own mistrust and disbelief that John actually wanted me had strained our relationship, hurt John so much that I had almost lost him to her. My lack of faith in us, her death and its aftermath drove John into the dark place from which he nearly never returned. We were separated eventually by something beyond either of our control. But now, now I have a second chance; Rafe wants to be with me. I won’t allow Harold’s doubt and fears to become Harry’s. Harry won’t hurt Rafe the way I once hurt John._

“But, first things first,” Harry chuckled to himself. “I have things to do today,” he informed the empty room, “Jack needs his bath. I need to clean this place up. I need a haircut and… What in world do old fossils like me wear on picnic dates?” Harry shrugged his shoulders and sniffed, “And I need to stop talking to myself,” before bending down to finish tying the laces on his shoes.

Harry wasn’t much for cleaning, which was probably why Martha had stepped in; she didn’t want him succumbing to some incurable disease brought on by dirty dishes piling up in the sink or soiled laundry festering in a clothes hamper more than a week. But, since Jacob wouldn’t be back for at least another hour with the dog, the barber shop where Harry preferred to go was already closed and he’d decided to take a chance dressing for his date tomorrow in an almost new pair of khakis with a matching polo; the only thing he could do at the moment was clean up the apartment.

The first thing on his to do list was gather up the clothes he’d worn the previous day, that now were haphazardly strewn from the living room, down the short hallway, and into his bedroom. Those he chucked into the hamper along with the rest of the virus carrying contaminated clothing.

Next thing Harry did was pick up the still half full tumbler of scotch, the bottle of single malt and dump the remaining contents of both down the drain. The pain of loneliness he’d drank to escape from was gone with finding Rafe; the blue-eyed man Harry couldn’t hold on to in his whiskey dreams, was once again solid flesh and bone, determined to stay.

Harry had just finished drying the omelet pan, the last of his and Rafe’s breakfast things, when there was a rap at the door. Assuming it was Martha’s grandson returning with Jack, he put the pan down on the counter and went to let them in the apartment. Jacob was waiting on the landing, but Jack was nowhere to be seen.

Jacob apologized, “I have to get going right away. My friends and I are heading to the lake to camp-out tonight, one last summer get together before we go back to our fall classes. Grandmom wants you to come down for a late lunch and is holding your dog hostage to make sure you do.” The teen shuffled his feet nervously thinking Harry might get angry.

“No problem, son. Let Martha know I’ll be down shortly.” He patted the young man on the shoulder to reassure him there was nothing to be angry about. When Jacob turned to go, Harry stopped him, handing him the twenty Harry pulled from his wallet, “For your camping trip. Go on take it!” when Jacob started to refuse.

Harry pulled the door shut behind him while he watched the youth descend the stairs three at a time. Jacob hollered, “He’s coming Grandmom!”, not even bothering to open the woman’s door before he bounded out the brownstone’s entry, down its steps and walkway to jump in a car loaded with the teen’s young friends. Harry went down the stairs more slowly taking one step at a time and once at the bottom limped over to knock on his neighbor’s door.

Harry reached up, but only tapped lightly when he noticed the door had been left slightly ajar. No wonder Jacob only shouted in passing; apparently Martha was expecting him and her grandson was just confirming that Harry was on his way down. Jack poked his head out the door pushing it open further; his tail was wagging furiously in greeting like he had been separated from Harry for days not the few hours the dog had spent running in the park with Jacob.

With the overly-excited dog dancing circles around him, Harry walked into the apartment when his neighbor called from her kitchen, “Come on in and take a seat! You know where! Lunch’ll be ready in five!”

Jack ceased his happy dance around Furnham once both were inside the apartment. The dog heeled next to him, nearly glued to the man’s side, while they made their way to Martha’s dining table where Harry took his usual seat. Normally Jack in what had become routine and without instruction would lie at Furnham’s feet but this time the dog sat perfectly to Harry’s right. Although the canine’s liquid brown eyes were fixed on him waiting for a command, Harry didn’t believe it was imagination that he saw more life, more bridled excitement peering up at him than had been there in months. On the command Jack did settle at Harry’s feet, but instead of putting snout on paws and closing his eyes, the dog kept his head up as if expecting something wonderful to happen at any moment.

It was less than five minutes when Martha brought out a pitcher of a strawberry colored drink and a smaller sized serving bowl of cucumber salad. She returned to the kitchen briefly before laying out a small platter of what appeared to be fish fillets in a golden browned crust and parslied potatoes.

After the abuse Harry knew he’d put his system through the night before and the _Rafe the cook specialty breakfast_ he’d ravenously eaten only a few hours ago, he didn’t expect to be able to finish more than a few bites of the lunch Martha prepared. But thirty minutes later, after eating two garlic crusted cod fillets, seconds of the potatoes, a third helping of salad, and watching his neighbor’s smile of satisfaction grow wider every time he accepted her offer of, “More?”, he finally pushed his plate away.

They both laughed riotously when in one of the lightest moods he had felt in months and even rarer for him, if ever, Harry patted his full stomach and begged in jest, “Please, not another bite. I just might explode!”

At his neighbor and best friend’s suggestion Harry took his refilled tumbler of the strawberry juice—Harry had been simultaneously impressed and touched that it wasn’t some store bought concoction, that Martha had taken the time to make the fruit juice from scratch with fresh strawberries, kiwi, lime, honey and water—and sat in in the living room to wait, while she cleared up the table.

The moment Martha took a seat next to his on the roomy, aged but still immaculate divan and turned to look at him with her piercing eyes, her lips pursed together, Harry knew their friendly banter over lunch was ended.

Harry braced himself, fully expecting questions about last night. Why had he been so rude to her?  Of course, she would want to know about what he guessed was no longer a secret, about Rafe having obviously spent the night. What had happened in the interim? His friend was caring and astute. _What had happened_ to change Harry from the deeply depressed man that abruptly dismissed her concerned question last night to the light-hearted Harry that just now joked and conversed lightly over lunch? What did Rafe have to do with it, if anything? Those questions he expected, was ready for, but this?

Hesitation was clearly written on her face, when Martha sighed heavily still uncertain. “Please don’t be frightened. I hope you know by now I would never betray you nor do anything to cause you harm. But I think you should know that I have been aware since the beginning that you are not the real Harrington.”

Harry was not ready for this. He tried to cover his total surprise at her revelation, but his whole body stiffened and the blood drained from his face. Maybe he looked about to pass out when Martha grabbed his hands and told him, “Breathe!”

Gulping in mouthfuls of air then, Harry managed to gasp out, “How?”

Martha squeezed his hands and looked him over until she seemed assured he was going to be okay then let go, taking a deep breath herself. “I have lived here fifteen years. The lady, who resided upstairs before Harrington, before you, was here almost as long and became almost like my sister. We both were saddened when she had to move out west for her health. She wanted to make sure the person who sublet her apartment met my approval too.”

Martha turned to take a photo album full of newspaper clippings from an end table drawer. “I never met Harrington in person, Emmy was the only one. But she knew of my hobby collecting newspaper articles and showed me these.” Martha handed the album to Harry who gave his friend a puzzled glance, before looking down at the clippings. The majority in that section of the album were about same sex marriages in New York and photos of couples from around the country who had come to New York City to be wed.

Martha continued her story while Harry skimmed through the clippings. “Emmy told me about Furnham’s tragic story of coming to New York City to finally be married to his life partner and two weeks later losing his new husband in an auto accident. How the last three years Furnham had spent convalescing and how he just wanted to move to the city where his final fond memories were spent. How much Emmy knew I could help the man.

“We agreed Harrington Furnham was the one, Emmy moved away, Furnham moved in. Only I never saw him but this one time. He kept to himself, never left the apartment and he never had anyone up except for the occasional delivery person. Then one night I couldn’t sleep; I was sitting at my bedroom window, in the dark, looking out at the street when I saw Furnham leaving with a dark haired woman. I never saw them return.”

Harry quickly looked up and over at Martha; he didn’t have to guess who that woman was. But all the photographs upstairs, the ones of him and Eric, the clippings with his photo, how did Martha know he wasn’t the real Furnham? As if she had heard his unspoken question, she turned a page and pointed out the genuine newspaper article about the wreck and the real photo of Harry and Eric Furnham. _Why was I so ready to foolishly believe The Machine had found my doppelganger?_

“Of course that’s why when you first saw me you were so surprised. It wasn’t the gunshot wound, was it?” Harry asked quietly, still looking at the photo. His eyes darted back and forth when he looked up at her again, “But why tell me this now?”

“I have spent the last six months getting to know you or who you pretended to be. It didn’t take a detective to figure out you were running or hiding from something.” Martha reached out and cupped his face, “And whatever that something was it separated you from someone important to you, someone you have missed very much.” She dropped her hand from Harry’s face to grab his hands once again, “You tried to pretend to move on, to be Harry Furnham putting his life back together. But being without that person hurts you, whoever you really are, terribly; so much so, you were ready to give up. Last night I believed you had.”

Harry blinked in surprise when his tough as nails friend and confidant sniffed and wiped away the tears threatening to fall, “I was so afraid for you. I sat and worried, then made up my mind to go up and check on you. It was when I opened my door that I saw him. I heard you let him in. I waited and listened for anything to happen that you might need my help, for him to leave.” Martha’s tone made it sound like she had failed Harry somehow when she admitted to falling asleep on the couch and being awakened by her grandson calling her from the park with the news of Harry’s overnight guest.

“He’s the one, isn’t he Harry, the person you have missed?”

Harry regarded this woman for a moment before answering. She was a true friend, someone he had come to trust implicitly. “Yes. I can’t tell you who we are, not that I don’t trust you, but because knowing the truth could put you in danger. I haven’t seen him since we were separated and I was so afraid that his being anywhere near me once again could put his life at risk. So I sent him away for good … or so I thought. He doesn’t want to let me go, and so help me, I can’t let him go either.”

Martha nodded her head in understanding, but cleared her throat before looking at Harry directly, “If you two are in so much danger is he really worth taking the chance?”

Harry had never admitted this to anyone, maybe not even himself, “I love him and I can’t live without him. I hope he feels the same way about me.”

Martha had kept Harry’s hands gripped in hers all this time. She gave them both a squeeze and a reassuring shake, “Oh honey, your Rafe feels the same about you.”

When Harry looked at her, totally dumbfounded again, Martha laughed and winked, “You didn’t think I would let him get away without giving him the third degree, do you?”

Jack heard both people laughing and squeezed in between them on the sofa. Instead of scolding the dog they ruffled Jack’s fur in unison. “Now Harry Furnham, what can I do to help keep your Rafe coming around, to make sure you and your furry friend here stay happy?”

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next...Picnic in the woods, no prying eyes  
> Will there be more than food?


	10. No Sleep Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Rafe needed some rest first. It was not really a joke when Rafe had laughed it off that without gallons of free coffee he would doze off in the cooler. He just couldn’t fall asleep when he should. Rafe had only slept a few hours in Harry’s bed last night. With the scant sleep he had had in his own bed at home for the past three days and none he was apparently going to get now; after working a ten hour shift, then without any sleep in between, driving two hours to the place he had chosen for their ‘date’; Rafe was sure he’d stretch out on the blanket he planned to spread over the ground and fall sound asleep. How could he exercise Jack, talk to and get Harry to eat if he was dead to the world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear picnic is still happening just not this chapter, sorry.  
> but read on you don't have to wait,  
> too long =)
> 
> I have been terribly lax lately thanking my beta Menagerie.  
> Especially for her banner and for her input all through this fic.  
> I can't do this on my own. Thanks M.
> 
> [LiveJournal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/7796.html)

 

Rafe sat up, punched his pillow a few times, before tossing it back on the bed and flopping on his back to stare up at the ceiling once more. Falling asleep as a routine, at a set time at night or during the day as required for working the graveyard shift had been extremely difficult for him in the past few months.

For many years of John’s life, the luxury of a normal schedule wasn’t something he was ever afforded. But John had trained himself to sleep when the situation allowed it, when he truly needed it, to shut out thoughts or block out mental images that kept him awake. Maybe this was another skill softened by his time working with Harold. Even though John had never established a normal routine exactly, it had always been John’s choice to what extreme the level of his involvement in their cases was. He was never forced into grabbing moments of rest when time allowed. Harold had even recruited help to ease John’s burden when he had thought John was taking on too much.

Rafe's scheduled shift at the diner started in three hours. He had a long ten hours ahead of him after that. Besides performing his regular duties, he planned on preparing a picnic dinner that Harry would love. Rafe twisted on his side, lifting his head up for a second to stab at the abused pillow once more.

Harry wasn’t skin and bone exactly, but he was frightfully thin. His once pleasantly plump ass was almost flat; Harry no longer had the little love handles and soft pudgy middle John had found so adorable on Harold. John had at first damned his new life as Rafe the cook, but quickly accepted it. Rafe found he actually loved it all from barbecuing to toasting, baking to pan frying and most of all, his new found talent of improving on or inventing completely new dishes, appetizers to desserts. Now Rafe was going to put those cooking skills to use and start putting some necessary weight back on Harry’s too lean frame.

Only Rafe needed some rest first. It was not really a joke when Rafe had laughed it off that without gallons of free coffee he would doze off in the cooler. He just couldn’t fall asleep when he should. Rafe had only slept a few hours in Harry’s bed last night. With the scant sleep he had had in his own bed at home for the past three days and none he was apparently going to get now; after working a ten hour shift, then without any sleep in between, driving two hours to the place he had chosen for their ‘date’; Rafe was sure he’d stretch out on the blanket he planned to spread over the ground and fall sound asleep. How could he exercise Jack, talk to and get Harry to eat if he was dead to the world?

Rafe tossed and turned a few more minutes then sat up again and slipped out of bed. He cursed all the way to his bath to take another shower. What he blamed was his having softened up, his losing the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, as to being the reason he was still wide awake now.

Rafe stood in front of the mirror, deciding he needed to trim up his beard first before showering. When he was done he inspected his reflection, making sure he would be looking his finest when Harry saw him again. At that thought Rafe grinned and shook his head, “You know damn well why you can’t fall asleep.”

It wasn’t insomnia or getting soft that had anything to do with why he couldn’t doze off. It would only take a huge dose of a sedative to knock him out now. Rafe was too ramped up with nervous excitement over being totally alone with Harry, thinking about his plans to seduce his date with food and more. First step in his plan to win Harry: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

An hour later, Rafe opened the trunk of Sherry’s car. Since her Sunday plans had fallen through she had insisted Rafe take her _Lexis_. His uncomfortable hunk of junk was not fit for Harrington to ride in for two hours with his infirmities. Rafe grabbed his duffel bag and the wicker picnic basket Sherry ordered him to dig out of her storage unit. The duffel contained his uniform, but the basket held empty containers waiting to be filled with the fare Rafe had planned for his and Harry’s outing.

Kylie was working the register, ringing up the ticket for a couple of Saturday night regulars when she looked up hearing the bell clanging announcing someone had entered through the diner’s main door. The waitress nodded hello then turned her attention back to her customers even though Rafe caught her glance at the clock and quirk an eyebrow up noticing her co-worker was there two hours early. It really was quite comical to see Kylie’s head whip back up and her jaw drop when it clicked inside her head what she saw Rafe carrying.

Rafe mouthed, “I’ll explain later,” before heading toward the back and through the ‘employees only’ doorway. Off the kitchen to the left was a small employee’s lounge and in there an even smaller dressing room/restroom that Rafe slipped into.

Now in his uniform, Rafe almost ran headlong into the curious waitress as he exited the dressing room. Grabbing Rafe’s arm, Kylie pulled him to the lounge’s small sofa dragging him down to sit with her. “Okay. Spill it! What happened? Did you and Evil-Lynne make up? What about that cute little guy you left with last night? What’s with the picnic basket?” The redhead breathlessly fired one question after the other.

Rafe lifted his hands palms outwards waving them in front of her, “Hey! Slow down! One at a time darlin, one at a time.” Kylie snapped her mouth shut, but still bounced up and down slightly like an excited child waiting to unwrap their first present at a birthday party.

“First of all, yes, Sherry and I made up.” Rafe grinned and shoved her shoulder playfully when Kylie rolled her eyes and scowled. “She’s not that bad, you know? You might even like Sherry if you gave her half a chance.” Kylie just rolled her eyes some more. Rafe chuckled this time, “Hey, I get it, you don’t like her. But, Sherry and I are friends, just friends. That’s it. We had a little misunderstanding on what kind of friends we were, but that's all cleared up now.”  

Kylie sighed in relief, “Good! She’s not your type.”

“Now about that cute little guy, his name is Harrington. I took him home, we talked and…”

Kylie clapped her hands in glee and finished Rafe’s sentence. “You both hit it off right away and you spent the night.”

Rafe’s face became somewhat somber, “I wouldn’t say hit it off right away, but I’m working on it. That’s why the wicker basket. I’m taking him out of the city tomorrow, to a lake a few hours away. I’m fixing us a picnic dinner. Well actually, I’m preparing enough for the diner for Monday; I’m just going to take some with me. Sherry actually cleared that with her uncle. Tom said to take all I need, on the house.”

“That’s sounds so romantic, a picnic by a lake.” Kylie cooed. “Need my help?”

At midnight, Kylie flipped the closed sign in the window. The busboy, the other evening waitress and Kylie quickly cleaned the dining room. Yet instead of saying goodnight to Rafe, leaving him alone to finish his shift prepping for Monday morning’s crowd, Kylie exchanged her waitress apron for a long white cook’s apron, rolled up her sleeves and mock saluted, “Chef’s assistant, Kylie Wright, reporting for duty, sir.”

Six hours later with the faint light of a new sunrise pinking the sky to the east, the two locked up the diner, before Rafe saw his assistant safely to her car. They had fixed enough of the cook's picnic dish specials to feed dozens. Rafe had packed enough in the basket to feed another half dozen more and left it chilling in the diner’s cooler, his plan to stop on the way out of town to pick it up.

Rafe headed home to try once again to grab a few hours before picking up Harry at their agreed upon one PM. Earlier Kylie had rolled her eyes again along with shaking her head and looking up after she caught him flirting with Harry over the phone when Rafe had called to set up the time during one of the cook's scheduled breaks. She whispered loudly as she walked by, “Now he’s your type.”

Unfortunately, again he just tossed and turned. Forty-five minutes later, there were no sounds of activity in the brownstone upstairs or down. Rafe hadn’t lost any of his stealthy breaking and entering skills. Only Jack sensed his presence, whining lowly then quieting at Rafe’s signal. He crept into Harry’s bedroom, sitting slowly on the bed. Still something alerted the older man to Rafe being in the room, his eyes startled until he recognized the intruder, “John? What are you doing here?” He tried to focus on the clock. “What time is it?”

“It’s early Harold. I couldn’t sleep.”

Harry pulled back the covers and scooted over on the bed. Rafe accepted the unspoken invitation, slipped off his shoes, then slacks and settled in the bed, his head on Harry’s chest. As Rafe listened to the thump-thump of Harry’s heart, he also heard the words, “Neither could I, John.”

Hours later, the alarm bleeped on and on, only Jack jumping in the bed between them roused the soundly sleeping men.

~~*~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry predate jitters next 
> 
> Yes the picnic is coming I promise


	11. Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry looked at himself in the mirror inspecting his hair one more time. He had been a bit skeptical when Martha had offered to trim it for him after he had fretted that he looked too old and scruffy for a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened Harry's POV the night before
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/7964.html)

 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror inspecting his hair one more time. He had been a bit skeptical when Martha had offered to trim it for him after he had fretted that he looked too old and scruffy for a date.

Harry had sworn to himself he wouldn’t let old doubts and fears get in the way of his second chance. But no matter how determined he was to fulfill those resolutions he couldn’t overcome a lifetime of self-consciousness overnight. Maybe it wasn’t quite the light-hearted joke he had meant it to be when he’d blithely answered his friend’s question, “Do you know a good barber shop that’s open all day? My apologies to Jack here, but I’m looking as shaggy as a dog. At my age I’m not what they call, _man-candy_ , but there’s no need to compound that with hair sticking out at all angles.”

Martha had tsked loudly and gawked at Harry like he’d taken leave of his senses. “I want you to know that I think you are very attractive. If you weren’t…well I’d go after you myself. And that young man of yours is blind in love with you.”

Martha arose pulling Harry to stand along with her, “But if it’ll make you feel better about how you look, I can cut your hair.” When Harry had balked, ready to protest, she tugged him into her small kitchen, pressing him to sit in one of the chairs at the two person dinette table, “Trust me. I had four sons with hair that grew faster than my money tree.” She smiled recalling fond memories, “They never saw a real barber until they went off to college.” Harry’s neighbor dug through a drawer pulling out an electric clipper and a pair of barber scissors. Clicking the scissors mischievously, she winked. “And they lived.”

Harry had laughed weakly, but nodded okay. Martha had taken care of and watched out for him, all the while never knowing who he really was. How could he not trust her now, even it was for something as simple as accepting her word that she could cut hair? So she had draped a towel around his shoulders then began snipping at his hair with the scissors while chatting away recounting stories of her boys and haircuts past.

When Martha was finished she handed him a hand-held mirror to check for himself and swept up the floor. After seeing his pleasantly surprised smile looking at his reflection, she removed the towel, brushed off his shirt and then shooed him out the door with a container of leftovers from lunch in his hand. “For your dinner and you had better eat it!”

Just before he’d started to close the door to his apartment Martha shouted up the stairs, “Don’t worry about the time! You better stop by and tell me about your date! You hear me Harry Furnham?”

His friend had done an excellent job. Harry had to admit it was as good as or better than some cuts done by the high priced stylists he used to go to once upon a time. He rubbed at his chin thinking maybe he should shave now but opted for in the morning after he had showered.

Instead, he went into the spare bedroom to retrieve a shower sized metal washtub out of its niche in the office closet and carried it back into the bath. It was Jack’s turn to get spruced up for the ‘date’. Once the tub was filled with water, Harry turned to the door assuming he would need to go in search of Jack who was probably hiding under Furnham’s bed. The canine was as brave as any other when taking on armed men with guns, but sensing it was time for his weekly bath the dog wasted no time running for cover. It was especially rough on them both now with Harry needing to do touch-ups to the dye job covering Jack’s markings.

Harry thought of the phrase—and just when you’ve think you’ve seen it all—not only didn’t he have to go in search of Jack, but the dog squeezed past him and voluntarily hopped into the wash tub. Harry wondered if Jack wanted to also look his best tomorrow but shrugged it off as fanciful thinking on his part.

Even with Jack’s cooperation, when bath time was over, the tub rinsed out and put away with his four-legged companion curled up on his doggie bed, Harry’s back still hurt. He fought the urge to grab a drink to ease the pain, instead opting to fix a cup of tea and take some pain relievers.

Trying to sit on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table always seemed to make his backache worse so Harry took his tea into the living room and settled himself into the one extravagance he’d purchased since _moving in_. The recliner was upholstered in a comfortable wool blend material warm brown in color. Best of all, the chair was equipped with a heated head and backrest complete with a rolling vibrator. Sitting in the chair had felt like heaven to his aching back and neck until he had allowed ninety-proof to become his panacea.

With the warmth of the _Magic Massager_ easing the ache of his strained back, Harry reclined the chair before becoming immersed in reading a book he had purchased months ago and had yet to crack open the cover.

When the wireless handset to his landline rang, Harry fully expected it to be his supervisor calling to let him know where he might be needed Monday, but was more than pleasantly surprised when he heard Rafe’s soft spoken voice on the other end of the line.

Rafe apologized for leaving earlier without even discussing a time that he would come by to pick Harry up the next day. They finally agreed on one pm after Harry had insisted Rafe go home and get some sleep after working all night.

Rafe wouldn’t divulge the secret of their destination, even after Harry tried to explain he needed to know how warmly to dress. He could feel a flush creep up his face and wasn’t sure the heat he was feeling now was entirely the chair when Rafe lowered his voice and rasped huskily into the phone, “Wear something comfortable and easy to remove in case things get a little too warm.”

Harry stuttered a bit before asking if there was anything he needed to bring. Rafe laughed softly hearing how much he had affected the other man before his before his voice grew even softer as he told Harry, “Just yourself, I’ll handle _everything_.” That flush crept even higher when Rafe’s implication was that the food wasn’t the only thing he planned on handling.

Rafe did not keep what food he actually planned on bringing a secret by detailing everything he was preparing in that same soft, seductive voice. When Harry started to protest that it was too much food, too much work; Rafe purred in a rolling wave of obviously banked desire, “It’s no problem. I need to keep my hands occupied until I can get them on you… I mean.” A puff of air could be heard as Rafe laughed almost soundlessly. “I mean until I see you.”

Harry reached down to turn the _Magic Massager_ off; he was definitely getting way too hot.

“All…alright then, I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow. “

John ended the call in a smoky voice full of promise and mischief. “I hope to be seeing all of you on our date too.”

The line went click and Harry was left breathing heavily and sweating. Lord what that man could do with his voice alone was nearly pornographic!

Harry flipped the lever forward to the chair’s footrest. When his feet dropped, he used the motion to propel himself into standing and hobbled off towards the kitchen ignoring the small twinge of protest his back gave leaving its warm haven. He needed to cool down—now!

Opening his refrigerator door and moving aside the pitcher of Rafe’s horrible morning-after cure, Harry grabbed the reused milk jug filled with some of Martha’s homemade lemonade. Regardless that he had never been a lemonade drinker; Harry had downed three glasses of it before he started to feel halfway normal, like he wasn’t boiling in his own clothing.

Harry poured himself one more glass before placing the lemonade back in the fridge. The back of his hand brushed the food container his friend had sent up with him. In her odd caring way the woman had ordered him to eat the contents for dinner and knowing Martha she’d more than likely find some way to make sure he did just that.

Harry watched the container turning on its microwave carousel as the contents were being reheated. Heating up a meal was so normal, so why all the sudden did it feel like he needed to shake himself awake? This was all so surreal, like he was having some kind of bizarre dream.

Why, just moments ago one of the most gorgeous men in the city was seducing him slowly and so effectively Harry had felt like he was being devoured by the heat of desire.

The next moment he was sitting down to eat reheated food from an old _Tupperware_ container, leftovers given to him by a kindly old neighbor lady residing downstairs. Both of them living in the same unit in the rundown row of brownstones in a neighborhood of the forgotten poor that Harry now called home.

Was this why he was feeling so disconnected right now? Was it because reality was rearing its head? Was being with Rafe a dream, a dream Harry needed to wake himself from before he was hurt? Why was this depressing cloud of doubt still hovering over him? Why did he still believe he had nothing to offer Rafe? Harry looked around his modest apartment and sighed. What did he have to offer?

Harry hadn’t noticed that Jack had followed him into the kitchen until the dog whined hearing his sigh. The dog shuffled over to Harry’s chair and looked up at Furnham big brown eyes full of love and hope. Jack’s entire demeanor had changed since Rafe had entered their lives. Jack did not question whether he deserved to have Rafe; he simply enjoyed the kind, gentle and amazing man. Harry realized he should do the same. His name and the outer trappings had changed, but Rafe was still John. Harry needed to trust Rafe as Harold had once trusted John

Resolve set and gloom cleared, Harry attempted to start his dinner. Once more he only expected to be able to eat just a few bites, it was only five hours ago that he was stuffed to the gills. However, once the first morsel passed his lips Harry was ravenous.

Harry had crawled into bed well past two AM, too keyed up with hope and excitement to try sleeping any sooner. After dinner he had made himself comfortable in the recliner once more and continued reading his book from cover to cover. Feeling drowsy from the soothing lull of his chair and reading for hours Harry thought surely he would fall asleep straight away.

But even as drowsy as Harry felt he still lay there for hours thinking about what might happen between Rafe and him later that day. Harry had finally started to doze off when he felt the mattress dip next to him.

He was momentarily startled until he recognized Rafe’s face in the pale morning light.

“John? What are you doing here?” Harry tried to focus on the clock. “What time is it?

“It’s early Harold. I couldn’t sleep.”

Harry folded back the covers and moved closer to the wall giving Rafe room to lie beside him. Rafe understood without words being spoken, standing to slip off his shoes and pants before sliding into the bed. Harry mentally tempered down the wave of desire that overtook him just watching Rafe’s beauty in motion with that one swift movement. The only thing Harry couldn’t control was the heavy thumping of his heart. Rafe seemed to find something soothing in listening to it though.

Harry had noticed the slip of the tongue he’d made calling Rafe - John, but couldn’t keep himself from whispering the name again while he let his fingers ghost over the undershirt stretched across Rafe's back, “Neither could I, John.”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picnic next. Read on.


	12. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaching over to turn off the alarm clock, he was met by sleepy blue eyes blinking back at him. Realization dawning on both men simultaneously caused them both to burst into fits of laughter. Harry fell back against his pillow letting Rafe kill the electronic alarm then watched the other man pretending to throttle the four-legged alarm’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The picnic
> 
> Thanks so much to menagerie for helping on this.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/8415.html)

 

Jack had curled up on the braided rug near his charge’s chair. The dog dozed lightly while his pack member stroked the _book_ over and over. There weren't many of those strange tasting things in their new den. The Alpha had chastised him long ago when he had tried to eat one, using the sound _book_ over again. _Books_ were something important to the pack but not food.

The dog stood up turned a bit to lie back down and curl up again with a whining yawn. He missed the old den made of wood covered with _books_. He missed the Alpha, missed the pack, even the female friend of pack who annoyed the others so. There were times Jack had sensed tension there but the pack was mostly…happy.

In this new place there was no sense of stress or anxiety, there was just overwhelming sadness.

But now, Alpha had returned, his scent was everywhere, even in their friend’s den beneath Glasses Man and his new one. Jack welcomed Alpha’s return along with the feeling of wellbeing that pack had given the canine once yet had been lost when the pack had been separated. Glasses Man had also welcomed Alpha back only Jack’s pack-mate still smelled of doubt and sadness.

Jack tried to do what a dog could to assure Glasses Man everything would be all right. Their Alpha had come back to them, wanted pack again…their pack.

Now as the dog lay there on the rug, watching his human pack mate stroke the _book_ , the canine only sensed eager anticipation from his companion.

Jack remained on the rug dozing long after Glasses Man turned off the light and left for his own bed.

After a while the dog made a warning sound but quickly silenced seeing the intruder was only Alpha. Jack followed behind, waiting and listening. When all he heard was the sound of sleeping humans, Jack lumbered off to his own room and bed.

The canine’s dream was filled with running in green grass and chasing the ball Alpha kept tossing, the sounds of human laughter chasing behind him as he ran to retrieve it. Until the annoying sound that usually meant his human was waking up intruded into the fun.

Jack got up and trotted happily into the other bedroom. There was no sign of movement from either of his two pack mates at all. After minutes of listening to that infernal noise and with the dog’s own excitement getting the best of him Jack jumped into the bed landing between the two humans.

.***

Harry was abruptly awakened by the weight of seventy pounds of eager dog pushing into his rib cage. He was about to push Jack off the bed and give the dog a severe scolding when he was reminded by the alarm’s blare of why he needed to be up.

Reaching over to turn off the alarm clock, he was met by sleepy blue eyes blinking back at him. Realization dawning on both men simultaneously caused them both to burst into fits of laughter. Harry fell back against his pillow letting Rafe kill the electronic alarm then watched the other man pretending to throttle the four-legged alarm’s throat.

They should have given the trained dog a firm reprimand for jumping onto the bed. Instead both of the men rough-housed with the overly ecstatic dog as Jack whined and yipped. It had been so long since his pack had played together. 

Despite the happy frolicking, certain physical needs couldn’t be ignored and Jack made a mad dash for the apartment door when Rafe asked, “Walk?”

Harry was puzzled when Rafe got out of bed and went to use the restroom without speaking a word to him. He closed his eyes throwing his arm over them wondering what was going on. They both had been a bit disoriented upon waking with a big puppy wedged in between their sides, but Harry had expected something a little different than silence following the laughter between the two of them.

Harry started a bit when he felt his arm being pulled away until he looked into those piercing blue eyes again. “Good morning,” Rafe greeted him in his soft gravelly voice and leaned over to brush a quick kiss over Harry’s lips. The taste and smell of peppermint answered Harry’s concerns. Rafe had bolted from the bed to brush his teeth. Rafe wanted a fresh mouth to kiss him!

Rafe whispered against Harry’s lips before straightening up. “I’d love to do this all day and I will…later, but for now our dog needs to be walked. While I’m gone you get ready. Remember comfortable, easy to remove?” With that Rafe winked and left out the door.

Harry watched him leave and hummed to himself. _When did Rafe dress to take the dog out? Was I that lost in thought?_

Thirty minutes later, showered, cleanly shaven, and dressed in charcoal gray slacks with a powder blue polo shirt accented with dark blue stripes, Harry walked out into his living room. Rafe was sitting in the recliner, murmuring something to Jack, the dog sitting at his feet, before Rafe stood and whistled appreciatively at the older man.

Rafe picked up a small duffle and nodded towards the bathroom, “Do you mind?” When Harry gestured that direction, adding “Be my guest,” Rafe passed by the shorter man, but paused long enough to bend down to murmur in Harry’s ear, “I hope you can eat a lot of food. Now all I am hungry for is you.”

Harry stood in the same spot long after the door to the bath clicked shut trying to catch his breath. The heat he had felt just hearing Rafe seduce him over the phone was a cool autumn breeze compared to the raging inferno threatening to consume him now. Seeing the hunger in the bearded man’s eyes combined with Rafe’s sultry voice in his ear was like a lit match to dry timber.

A cup of hot tea was probably the last thing Harry needed, but he hobbled off into the kitchen anyways. He hoped that at least going through the motions of preparing a cup would distract his thoughts away from Rafe long enough to cool himself down.

It worked…almost. That is until Rafe stepped into the kitchen smelling of citrus and spice, his salt and pepper hair still glistening wet from the shower. The soft blue jeans he wore hugged his lean hips. With its sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a blue denim shirt worn open over a light blue sleeveless button-up revealed taut muscular forearms.

Harry swallowed hard as he watched Rafe approach the table. The man moved with the grace and agility of a jungle cat approaching its prey. Harry was sure he would he was going to be devoured either by Rafe’s hungry eyes or his own burning desires. Neither of those happened when Rafe only kissed the top of Harry’s head while massaging the older man’s shoulders a bit, “Go ahead and finish your tea. I’ll take Jack and meet you in the car.”

Rafe waited behind the wheel, smiling to himself, his plan so far working to perfection. Ten minutes later and looking fairly composed once more, Harry slipped into the passenger seat of the _Lexis_. Once his passenger was buckled up Rafe drove the sleek car away from the curb. Harry waved goodbye to Martha who had been watching out her picture window and gave her neighbor a big thumb’s up.

After a brief stop at the diner, the three were headed out of the city. When traffic was lighter the two men were able to strike up a conversation. They spent the two hour drive getting to know each other’s histories as Gianni Rissole and Harrington Furnham. Harry sometimes found it hard to pay attention or talk about his life when Rafe’s hand would every so often leave the steering wheel to rub intimately over Harry’s knee or thigh.

Nearly two hours into the drive Rafe turned the car off onto a side road and then down a long gravel road to a locked gate. Beyond the gate were three summer cottages, with short docks reaching out to a lake no more five hundred yards across.

Rafe noted before jumping from the car, “This was Sherry’s idea too. It’s her family’s summer retreat.” Harry had been happy for Rafe and Sherry, also relieved and even happier for himself, when Furnham had found out the two were back to being just friends after they had had their talk. Regardless, it really was a complete surprise to find out Sherry had offered the use of her car and now this?

The road beyond the gate was black-topped, circling around the lake and the cottages themselves. Rafe followed along it before pulling the car into the drive belonging to the middle cottage. Jack popped his head up over the backrest, suddenly interested in their surroundings now that the car had stopped. After turning off the engine, Rafe reached up to briefly scratch the dog’s ears, “Yeah buddy we're here.”

Harry felt ridiculous but had went along with Rafe’s surprise, waiting in the car blindfolded until being led down a gradual incline the other man’s arm securely around him. His breath was literally taken away when Rafe removed the blindfold. There in the shade of an old elm tree was a blanket spread out over lush green grass. Colorful cushions were arranged on it, the food lay out as if waiting for a king or sultan to sit down and partake of it.

He could hear some uncertainty in John’s voice when he asked, “Do you like it, Harold?” Out here they could be Finch and Reese again. Harold looked into his partner’s eyes seeing the anxiousness there, “Like it? I love it.” He reached up to touch the beard covering John Reese’s face, “Thank you, John for ignoring the insecurities of a foolish old man. I really needed this, I need you.”

“You’ll have me Harold, always,” John promised, “No matter what we call ourselves or who we pretend to be.”

Their old doubts, anxieties, and problems were temporarily forgotten as they gazed into one another’s eyes. The spell was broken though when Jack squeezed between the two men, a ball he expected one of them to throw dropped on the ground.

Rafe was back, laughing as he helped Harry settle on the mounds of pillows before dropping on the blanket next to him. He draped an arm across Harry’s back while throwing the ball over and over for Jack to chase.

When the canine appeared to be done with the game, Rafe reached into the basket and tossed the dog a soup bone that Jack grabbed and trotted off with to somewhere by himself.

Turning to Furnham, Rafe eased both hands under the other man’s polo, brushing fingers over his ribcage and across Harry’s stomach. “While Jack is off enjoying his picnic dinner, it’s time to enjoy ours.

“I think you mentioned you love quiche.” Rafe turned away momentarily before holding a sliver of something golden brown topped with tomato and held it to Harry’s mouth. After the initial burst of bacon flavor touched his tongue with the first bite fueled his appetite, Rafe had fed him three slices, Harry eating greedily from his fingers. When he attempted to wipe away small bits clinging to the corners of his mouth, Rafe pulled Harry’s hand away and lowered his head to sweep the crumbs away with his own tongue.

“Delicious,” Rafe purred with the look in his eyes giving away it was not the food that he meant. “I have something that will taste even better on your lips.” He opened a bowl with some sort of salad and with a fork offered to feed Harry once more. Rafe leered mischievously waving the fork around. “I meant to say this will taste even better passing your lips.”

Harold found the light summer salad to be tangy with a savory quantity brought out by the beef. The greens were crisp and sweet. Of course, the kisses to remove the dressing from Harry’s mouth and chin were spicier.

Once they had a serving of salad between them, Rafe pulled out cute little croissant sandwiches. Using olives on toothpicks, the sandwiches looked like menacing crabs with pincers. They were adorable! Rafe cut one in half and using a napkin, fed it to Harry. Rafe then took his own bites.

Harry munched slowly, savoring the crispy bacon in the professional grade club sandwich. He turned to Rafe and smiled. “These are delicious; pleasing to the eye and the palate!” Harry let his gaze wander appreciatively from Rafe’s face down to his waist and hungrily back up again; the sandwiches were not the only thing he found appetizing.

Rafe turned shy. He looked at the ground. His eyelashes curled up as they fluttered against the pink apples of his cheek. Harry was touched and surprised to see such a show from Rafe. Really, Rafe seemed so untouchable sometimes that Harry forgot that it was simply Rafe’s defenses.  Those same defenses were like the walls Harry himself had built around his own heart.

Just as Harry himself was vulnerable to Rafe’s affection so too were Rafe’s defenses laid bare for Harry. Both men projected an impenetrable facade to the world, to everyone, but each other. Harry needed to remember that Rafe’s one weakness was Harry just as Harry’s weakness was Rafe.

Harry took Rafe’s chin and lifted his head. Harry leaned over and kissed each closed eye. The lashes tickled his lips. Then Harry kissed Rafe’s mouth.  It was a swift, yet meaningful kiss of gratitude and affection. Harry leaned back and smiled at Rafe who was now gazing at Harry with a pleased expression.

Harry looked away to find the pitcher of green iced tea. “You have outdone yourself Rafe. Each dish,” Harry poured each of them a cup. “Each course is not only gourmet, but suited to the weather and the company.” Harry raised his cup as in a toast which Rafe matched. “Most importantly, I am viscerally aware that every ingredient was accompanied by a sincere feeling of ardor on the part of the chef.” Harry moved his cup to clink against Rafe’s. “May we always revel in the talents and wonders of each other. May we never become immune to it or take it for granted.” They both drank to seal the pact.

When their glasses were empty, Rafe took Harry’s from his hand and along with his own tucked them both into the basket. Next, he removed Harry’s eye glasses, folding them before putting them safely out of harm’s way.

As Harry watched with wide eyes, bare without their wire and glass covering, Rafe grasped his face to kiss Harry’s lips while lowering them both to the bed of cushions.

Rafe deepened the kiss moving one hand to slip under Harry’s shirt and run it up a hairy chest to fondle one of Harris’s nipples. Harry returned the kiss with an equal fervor, tugging Rafe’s shirts from the waistband of his jeans, shoving them both upwards where he could run a hand over Rafe’s chest as well.

Kiss followed hungry kiss, until Rafe tugged Harry’s hand out to keep from trapping it between them as he turned over on his back, pulling the older man on top of him. He held Harry’s waist in his hands while rolling his own hips upwards.

Ignoring any protests his injuries tried to give, Harry met Rafe’s motions with thrusts of his own. They began to rock into one another. Rafe whispered, “You feel so good.”

Harry ruffled Rafe’s hair and kissed his neck, “You're so warm and you smell so,” Their rubbing was becoming heated. Harry could feel his blood begin to move to his penis. “You smell delectable.”

Rafe used his longer legs to entwine them with Harry’s. Both their legs were spread wide to allow their groins to feel the pressure building. Rafe noticed Harry was starting to get aroused. His own cock was getting larger with every rapid beating of his pounding heart.

They both started humping in a familiar rhythm; the idea of undressing then and there began to form in both their minds when Jack’s barking alerted them to another car pulling into the cottage driveway next door. Quickly making themselves decent they were both sitting up innocently returning the waves of the newcomers after they exited their vehicle.

When the family of five finally went inside, Rafe and Harry looked at each other. Both of them looked like two men who had been caught making out. Rafe’s hair was completely messed up and his shirts were wide open. Harry’s pants were bunched uncomfortably around his now flaccid dick. They were grown men who should have known better. Harry looked mortified and Rafe was trying his hardest not to start all over again.

Harry snatched his glasses returning them to his face then rose as best he could looking embarrassed as all get out. “Perhaps we needed a reality check as it were.”

Rafe was now on alert. Did Harry have second thoughts? “What? It was just a family. They are not part of Samaritan I am certain of it.”

Harry turned quickly to stare at Rafe’s hurt and panicked face. ‘No, no. I mean we needed to be stopped. I wouldn’t want to do something in the heat of the moment that we might both regret.”

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck and finger combed his hair. “We have known each other for years and you know everything about me. We love each other. It’s not like we have never touched or... or had sex.”

Harry began to replace the containers into the basket not making eye contact with Rafe. “Be that as it may, I have not been with a man that way in nearly a decade. As to, as to intercourse, my experience is in the distant past.

Rafe began to help, “Wasn't like we brought lube and condoms. It was just...”

Harry dropped the blanket angrily and held out his hand. “Look!”

Rafe looked at the hand, minute tremors were visible. Harry continued when Rafe was unable to speak. “I am not a young man. I just recently stopped self-medicating with alcohol. I don't trust myself. I might hurt you or worse: drive you away.”

Rafe took a step closer and Harry embraced him to say, “I trust you Rafe.” Harry laid his head on Rafe’s chest. “I just need time to regain my confidence before I touch you.”

Rafe held Harry for while then patted his back, “You felt pretty confident to me.” Harry laughed and looked up. They kissed, briefly then parted to finish the cleanup.

On the ride home with Jack sleeping with his head on the basket, they talked. They discussed exactly what each of them needed for their next date. Harry needed time to regain his self-confidence when Rafe’s well-being was an issue; while Rafe needed and craved being as close to Harry as possible. In addition, both agreed that whatever they did, each of them needed the other most of all.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there are more smexy times coming;  
> Harry does get his confidence back.


	13. The Fusco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherry was stressed out to say the least. Close to seven one of their regulars popped in. She remembered him from those early hours she had come in as manager on her uncle’s mornings off as well as one of her lunch crowd. Sherry knew that he was a cop and always polite. Mornings, he left a tip even if he only ordered coffee, lunch, if only a sandwich and coffee to go. The man was sweet-tempered with curly hair and the cutest belly. He was large, but short. Sherry thought of him, not mean spirited in any way, as a pug-dog of a man. Sherry would usually only see him up close or speak to him as he paid his tab and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little break here for Harry and Rafe  
> as John and Harold's old life starts mixing with the new.  
> Nothing bad, maybe something special for my favorite Detective!  
> My thanks again to Menagerie who helped write this.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/8678.html)

 This was not how Sherry Newton spent the start of her Mondays. The beginnings of that day never started before eight AM. Two unhurried hours of her morning ablutions, a thirty minute brunch, then a leisurely drive in her pride and joy to whatever activity she had planned for herself on her day off. Sherry essentially volunteered to help her uncle out when times for the diner were rough as a cashier-hostess for the lunch shift, Tuesdays through Saturdays. Sherry didn’t need the job as a member of the moneyed Newton family but her maternal uncle had been working class all his life—part owner and manager now of Perry’s. When fortunes of the diner started looking up, with peak hours for the midday meal beginning late morning and lasting well into the afternoon, Sherry had stayed on pro-bono.

Only difference now, the epitome of manhood - the savior of Perry’s diner - known as Rafe the cook and Sherry’s hidden desire to have the blue-eyed, salt and pepper haired Adonis for her own held more sway over her remaining than any family loyalty. Sherry had thanked the heavens when Rafe and she had fallen into the arrangement of friends only dating; she could bide her time until he came round. Sherry had been so angry last Friday night when **her** Lancelot had showed up late having played knight in shining armor to the leader of the Geek Squad, that her uncle had told her to stay home Saturday. Then to find out that friends were all she and Rafe would ever be; Rafe really wasn’t interested in her as a woman or any woman at all, Sherry had seen murderous red. When her ire eventually cooled, well was snuffed out like the flame on a candle seeing how truly smitten Rafe was with Mr. Pocket Square; Sherry realized how much of a true friend the man had become to her and how much she wanted Rafe to be happy even if his happiness came in the package of a limping little man with glasses.

What did this have to do with the lousy beginning to her week? Usually Rafe was the morning prep cook. On Mondays he came in around two A.M. to take deliveries for the day’s bread and vegetables. Boris the day shift cook was kind enough to come in early to take deliveries, prepare the veggies for the day, and start the biscuit batches that would be cooked as ordered. Rafe was also the manager on duty most Mondays. He made the day’s deposit, most of it consisting of Saturday’s receipts, at five and left it for the day shift manager to take to the bank when it opened. Rafe was able to be the prep cook, manager, baker, line cook, and help the waitress on duty. But Rafe was on a date so Sherry needed to go in at five in his place as manager. That early only a manager and cook were on shift. The manager would act as waitress if the crowd got too busy.

This morning though, she had to take the subway since Rafe had her car. This was not a problem usually, but Sherry spent too much time in the shower thinking about all the sweet and sexy scenarios that might have happened between tall, dark, and handsome Rafe with his cute little nerd. She was late for the train, late for her bus, and late for the shift. The shift started with a problem. The nearby construction had a crew of twenty. Every one of them decided to show up at five-thirty. Usually the morning shift doesn’t get rocking until six. Sherry couldn’t finish the deposit, she didn’t have enough coffee for this crowd, and she would be the only waitress until seven; Tiffany the waitress scheduled for opening was a no show. She hated being a waitress and the reason why she rarely worked the five to one shift, but it was for a good cause. At least it better be. Rafe was due for a report on the night’s activity any time now.

Sherry was stressed out to say the least. Close to seven one of their regulars popped in. She remembered him from those early hours she had come in as manager on her uncle’s mornings off as well as one of her lunch crowd. Sherry knew that he was a cop and always polite. Mornings, he left a tip even if he only ordered coffee, lunch, if only a sandwich and coffee to go. The man was sweet-tempered with curly hair and the cutest belly. He was large, but short. Sherry thought of him, not mean spirited in any way, as a pug-dog of a man. Sherry would usually only see him up close or speak to him as he paid his tab and left.

Today, he was early and Sherry could indulge in some snooping as she took his order. “What can we get for you sweetie?” She asked.

Lionel Fusco looked up and smiled at the cashier he had been gathering his nerve to talk to for weeks. She usually only said Hi and Bye to him. He hadn’t thought she would be the one to take his order. He needed more time to think up something say, “Uh...coffee and the fried ham special. Eggs over medium, toast white, onion and tomato in the hash browns. Cream and honey.”

Sherry looked confused. Fusco realized he meant to say ‘Cream and sugar, Honey.’ _Dammit!_ “Uh, for the coffee. Cream and honey.”

Sherry shrugged, “Okay thought you liked _Equal_ most days, but we have honey for the hot tea crowd. Will that do?”

Fusco looked abashed, but he had to run with his mistake. “Yes, thank you.”

Sherry ambled off, the swish of her uniform skirt catching his ear. She was so cute, all ribbons and curls in her long blond hair. Most women Fusco dealt with recently were all hardened professionals, lawful or otherwise. Which was fine, but sometimes Lionel wanted a softer side in his life.

Fusco sighed, it was not likely that any soft woman was gonna be interested in him. Wanda and he had dated casually almost a year before she stopped returning his calls with no explanation.

The precinct was getting a new Captain and Lionel still had no partner. Not that anyone could replace Carter, but no back-up meant Fusco was desk bound for most of his cases. He would send the rookies out to investigate as he worked the cases in house using his connections on the phone. It wasn’t ideal, but with the LEGEND of the Fusco spreading throughout the force, Lionel was trying to keep a low profile. All the cases he had cleared in the last three years had garnered him a reputation. However, since the blackout he hadn’t heard from his certain friends, without Wonder Boy and Glasses to feed him new leads, Fusco was running to keep up to his own record.

While Lionel was bemoaning his bad luck staring blankly out the window his booth was next to he did not notice the new guy popping in the entrance behind him. The guy would have been familiar to Fusco; tall, good looking, salt and pepper hair with a walk like an alley cat that had been in too many fights to be friendly, but won most of those scraps to be ignored easily. Rafe was coming in to give Sherry her car keys and be _interrogated_. Lionel would have recognized John Reese anywhere.

Rafe came around the counter and handed Sherry her keys by dropping them into her apron pocket. Sherry turned and hugged Rafe. “Oh damn! This morning crowd is killing me. I haven’t had time to do the deposit for Saturday.”

Rafe returned the hug and looked around. “Want me to do it?”

Sherry sighed happily, “Please! After the seven o'clock girl gets here I will be heading to the office to give you the third degree”

Rafe smirked and left for the back office. He was sure that he would be interrogated by the master later.

Meanwhile, Fusco got up the nerve to start chatting Sherry up. He ate his breakfast fast and took his dishes up to the counter. “Hope you don't mind. I just wanted to help.”

Sherry smiled, ‘You are a sweetheart.”

Just then the seven o'clock girl rushed in and reported for duty. Sherry explained about the coffee and that Boris might be a little behind since the crowd just left. Sherry wiped her brow and contemplated taking a break before tackling Rafe. She saw Fusco hadn’t left, had returned to his booth, nursing a glass of water when Sherry decided she could sit and have some coffee with a customer. “Natasha, I am going to take a break then check on the office. Buzz if you need me.” Even after years of the two working at the diner Sherry mentally laughed remembering the cartoon characters their names Boris and Natasha reminded Sherry of.

“Sure thing, Sherry.”

Sherry gathered two steaming, fresh brewed cups of their Colombian blend. She stood by Fusco’s booth and asked, “Can a girl join one of New York’s finest for a spell?”

Fusco rose up in a rush and stammered, ‘S-sure! My pleasure...um my honor.”

They both sat and Sherry tried to hide her indulgent smile. The cop was nervous. It was adorable!

Sherry extended an elegant right hand, jeweled rings on long slender fingers ending with manicured nails painted a dusky rose, she introduced herself silkily, “I’m Sherry, Sherry Newton and you are?”

Lionel had the urge to wipe his hand first but instead took the dainty, yet surprisingly strong hand, in his own. He tried to answer and not trip over his own tongue this time, “Lionel Fusco, ma’am, Detective Lionel Fusco.”

Sherry made sure to slide her thumb across the back of the masculine hand and fingers sprinkled with dark hair as she slipped her hand from Fusco’s grasp. Laughingly she fawned, “So polite, but I’m Ms. Newton. Only my mother is referred to as ma’am.”

“You're a detective?” Sherry gushed impressed.  “I heard round you were police but an honest to goodness detective?”

Fusco wasn’t one to fluster easily but twice in one morning he felt the warmth of embarrassment rising in his face. “It’s really not as exciting as it sounds. I sit at my desk, for hours or an entire shift some days, just going over crime photos and forensic reports.”

Sherry waved away his words with a flick of her ornamented fingers, “You're too modest, Lionel. I can call you Lionel? I am sure it’s more…exciting!" She glance at her watch and sighed disappointingly, “I need to get back to work, maybe we can talk some more...about your job...later?”

Lionel looked at his watch too, cursing the time and that he needed to leave, when it hit him like a ton of bricks _. She’s hitting on you moron!_ “I’d like that. I get off duty at six. Would you like to meet for a drink somewhere maybe over dinner?”

“I’d love to.” Sherry grabbed a napkin scribbling her phone number on it before handing it to the astonished detective. “I am just filling in this morning. I'll be done in a few hours, call me then, okay?”

With that the burly detective stood up from the booth to follow the blonde beauty in a waitress uniform to the cash register to pay for his meal.

Just as Sherry was using his change as excuse to hold his hand, the bell rang for the front door. Standing there menacingly holding a gun was a man wearing a black ski mask. Sherry squeaked in fear. Below the cash register was a buzzer for the office, she pressed it. A monitor in the office showed all the camera angles in the dining room and lobby. If a waitress needed help from a manger they buzzed them. Right then Rafe looked up at the monitor to see Sherry being threatened by a gun. He immediately left the office.  Unnoticed by the gunman intent on the cashier and the register, Rafe passed by the coffee makers and grabbed a fresh pot. Right before he threw the pot at the robber, Rafe caught the eye of the cop drawing his weapon. It was his old _friend_ Detective Fusco. Rafe didn’t pause; he threw the pot squarely at the robber’s face. As soon as the masked man dropped his weapon to grab at his burning face, Fusco acted. He took out the guy’s knee which caused the would be robber to flop on the floor in a painful heap. Lionel grabbed his cuffs and had the screaming robber subdued in seconds. He stood up to reach for his phone to call it in when he spotted the coffee thrower holding the cashier to calm her down. Fusco almost dropped his phone is shock: it was John Reese.

Before Fusco could speak, Rafe grabbed Lionel’s hand and shook it. “Thank you Officer! Thank you. If anything had happened to my staff I would have been beside myself. You have the eternal gratitude of Rafe Rissole” Rafe held Fusco's eye long enough for the detective to comprehend, Rafe Rissole was now John Reese's cover. 

Lionel got it. “Oh! Mr. Rissole. Please? I was just doing my job.” He winked and bent over to take off the mask of the assailant.

When a red headed punk was revealed, Natasha and Sherry gasped, “It’s Freddie!”

Fusco stood up and looked confused. Sherry moved away from Rafe and stood close to Fusco. “Freddie is Tiffany’s boyfriend.”

Natasha piped in, “Tiffany was supposed to be here working with me at seven!”

Rafe sighed, “Well, I guess we know why she didn’t come in.”

Sherry kicked Freddie in the stomach with a dainty foot. “Did Tiffany put you up to this?”

Fusco pulled her away as Freddie groaned, “Listen punk it would easier for you if you told us the truth.”

Freddie was happy to tell everyone that Tiffany told him about the Saturday deposits. But normally the scary night cook Rafe was here.  Rafe was known as the guard dog of the diner. But a few days ago Tiffany informed Freddie that Rafe was taking the day off. So, only Sherry would be doing the cash deposit. She said it would be easy money.

Sherry’s uncle, Tom Carlson, arrived as the same time the uniforms pulled their cruiser out of the parking lot, the suspect handcuffed in the back of the squad car.

Tom walked into the dining room to see his frazzled looking but otherwise unharmed niece pulling a stocky curly headed man is a suit towards him with an extremely apologetic looking Rissole following behind. Even though his niece was singing the praises of her new hero, a Detective Fusco, and apparently newest romantic interest the way she kept slipping her arm into his while batting her eyes in guy’s direction, Tom found out if not for Rafe’s quick thinking, the would be robber may have injured or killed someone. Possibly not even the armed detective could have done anything to prevent it.

Still, Rafe apologized that it was his fault that this happened. If he hadn’t asked for the day off Tiffany and her boyfriend wouldn’t have thought the diner would be easy pickings.

Tom grabbed Rafe’s arm chiding him for feeling that any of this was Rafe’s fault in any manner. “Son! You are here seven days a week. You deserve time off at least once for your personal life. No way in hell is any of this your fault. If it wasn’t for you…Sherry might have been killed.”

“I can’t reward you much for what you have done, and knowing you, I doubt you’d take it.” Tom released his hold on Rafe’s arm to grab his hand instead and shook it. “But I insist you take the week off with pay. That means I don’t want to find your ass in here from the time you leave here today until bright and early Monday morning ... to **eat** breakfast. Your shifts are covered. You hear?”

Fusco’s head snapped up when he heard the uncle suggest that Rafe take his _young man_ to the fair. He’d always thought John was straight and if Reese swung the other way then Glasses would be the one. Still at the mention of the fair, Fusco piped in, “I’m taking my son, Lee there.”

Sherry squealed in delight that she loves kids, at which point Fusco whipped the picture of Lee out of his wallet to show her faster than a grandmother with pictures of the grand kids.

“He’s handsome. I’d like to meet him.”

Fusco took the plunge, “Would you like to go with us?

Sherry eagerly accepted the invitation going so far as suggesting that they all double date to the fair.

Rafe panicked thinking it might be too dangerous for both Harry and Rafe to be seen with the detective out in public and declined stating he already made plans for Thursday evening. “Maybe another time?”

Rafe and Tom then went into the office to finish up with the deposit, while Sherry saw Fusco to the door after giving him her formal statement of the events.

Sherry turned the open sign back over and kept the door unlocked for business to resume after the morning's activities.

An hour later when Tom returned from making the bank deposit, he urged Rafe and Sherry to go home.

Sherry offered to give Rafe a lift wherever since his pickup was still parked at his apartment.

“Where to?” Sherry broke into Rafe’s thoughts. They were in the _Lexis_ a few blocks from the diner.

“Take me home.”  Was all Rafe said, but after months of learning the man who she now thought of as her BFF, Sherry could tell home was the last place Rafe wanted to go.

“Okay honey, talk to me!”

Rafe drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I want to go back to Harry’s apartment, to be waiting for him when he walks through his door. I want to gather him in my arms again. But, I need to back off, to give him time.”

“So, your date went well?”

Rafe grinned madly despite the consternation etched on the rest of his features. “Harry wants me as much as I want him.”

“But…?” Sherry didn’t really want to push for specifics especially intimate ones, but sensed her friend needed to talk to someone.

“I can’t get into details, but Harry has…personal issues…to work through before we go further. I have to take things really slow, give him the space he needs for now. It’s not easy; I just want to be there. Even if we do no more than hold each other as we sleep like we did last night.”

“Sounds like your Harry really is the one for you, honey. And you are the one for him. Don't let him get away.” Sherry took her right hand off the steering wheel briefly to give Rafe a reassuring pat on his thigh. “Don't you… **ever** …let him go!”

John Reese looked at the first true friend he had in almost a lifetime to just share his life’s problems with, even if she only knew him as Gianni Rafael Rissole, “I won't, I couldn’t even if I tried.” _I’ll always love, everything I am belongs to Harold Finch._

Sherry pulled into the parking area for a surprisingly popular little sandwich shop not far from Rafe’s _just a stop off to better things_ apartment building.

“Let’s go! I’ll buy us an early lunch. You tell me about your date.”

Laughing the two friends exited the silver car and headed towards the shop, Sherry accepting Rafe’s proffered arm.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Harry's old life collides with the new but not in a bad way.


	14. Miss Tammy Sue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry got up and took his place behind the last of the students, pushing his tray along as members of the lunch staff dished out whatever food he asked for as he went down the line. He thanked an elderly lady for the generous helping she gave him of Salisbury steak then moved further along for the next entrée. Harry about slid the tray, food and all, straight off the metal bars when he looked over to see a familiar face dishing out ice cream scoops of mashed potatoes. It was Samantha Groves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Rafe bumps into Fusco,  
> over in Queens Harry finds Root.  
> Just a wee bit of ridiculous I know  
> but hey!!
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/8724.html)

 

 

It had been a long, tiring and extremely upsetting ride on the MTA from the middle school Harry had been sent to Monday. His auburn haired companion on the commute home had stayed seated when Harry exited the subway car. Harry nearly missed the bus stop on the brownstone’s block only a short hop from the transfer station; Harry’s awareness of his surroundings was distracted by the trepidation roiling deep in his gut. _How will John react when I tell him about my **accidental** encounter?_

Jack’s nails clicking like castanets on the hardwood floor as the dog trotted happily from his _room_ to sit antsy at Harry’s feet were the only sounds heard in the apartment. The apprehensive older man still couldn’t help but feel crestfallen facing the empty silence that echoed hollowly in every room with Rafe not being here. The details of Mr. Furnham’s chance meeting with another employee of the school system and possible repercussions were shoved hastily to the back of his mind. For the first time in years Harry allowed his personal life and happiness to take precedence over everything else.

Rafe had spent the night following their picnic lying next to Harry, each one feeling content to hold the other man close. A kiss good morning with the room bathed in pale light of the setting moon infiltrating through the open blinds had turned heated between them ending with Rafe pulling away. Apologizing profusely, he had stood next to the bed running fingers through sleep mussed hair, erection tenting the front of his briefs. Harry struggled to sit up carefully, his own sensitive arousal trapped between cloth and skin. He had reached for the repentant man’s hand attempting to reassure him there was no need to be sorry, but Rafe had only pulled away further.  

Harry limped wearily over to the sofa and sank heavily down on it. He absently stroked Jack’s ears, the dog having followed to sit near his charge’s knees and laying his head on the man’s lap. Remembering Rafe’s words as he pulled away caused Harry to chafe inwardly.

“I want you so badly … and…and I know you want me. But wanting isn’t enough right now, is it? You want to be able to reciprocate intimate touch for intimate touch and you couldn’t do that. I don’t want to push you too hard. As much as I need you and want you, I might lose control of myself. I don’t want to go back to my empty apartment, to be alone again, but I think that it’s best that is where I should go until you feel you are ready. ”

It was what he wanted. _Right?_ Time and space was all Harry needed to come to grips with his insecurities, at least for now. The doubts plaguing him about if Rafe truly wanted them to be together and the sensibility in them even reuniting because of their pasts were no longer an issue. Harold needed time to heal physically from the abuse he’d put his body through trying to deal with the depression of being separated from John all those months. Regretting that he had agreed to Rafe leaving for now Harry sighed heavily. _Can I do this alone?_

Harry went into the kitchen to pour a glass of the leftover green iced tea from yesterday’s picnic. There sitting front and center on the top shelf was a covered casserole dish with a post-it note stuck to it.

‘I’ll be home at seven. I’m still waiting to hear about your date. See you then!!’

Harry poured himself a tall tumbler of the iced tea and made up a small plate of a slice of the leftover quiche, one of the sandwiches and a brownie. Harry blushed slightly remembering their amorous activities were the reason they hadn’t gotten around to eating the sweet concoction. He rarely ate anywhere other than sitting at his table in the kitchen, but breaking his rules Harry opted to return to the living room to relax in his recliner heaven.

He really did want to go speak with his friend, maybe confide in her about how things turned out. Ask her for advice. Martha was only older by a few years but sometimes her wisdom about real life made Harry feel like an inexperienced child.

With an hour to wait until Martha returned, Harry relaxed into his recliner mulling over the day's happenings in his mind.

The two men had parted this morning giving each other quick feathery kisses, Rafe's strong yet gentle hands cradling his older lover’s face, while Harry ran tremoring hands up and down the taller man’s muscular back. Although they had mutually agreed to keep their distance for the time being, they still required even those briefest of touches to sustain their need for connection until being physically together once more.

Rafe had offered one more time unsuccessfully with Harry politely declining again to be driven to the school in Queens. He hated having to leave Jack at home; not having the dog’s companionship, but the commute required taking the bus, the subway, the train ending with a ten minute walk to get there. Maybe it would have been wiser to go by car rather than the hassle of the alternative, but Harry didn’t want to spend any more time alone with Rafe. He didn’t want to be tempted to change his mind about the temporary separation, ask that Rafe be waiting at the end of the school day to take them both home.

Seated on the bus as it passed in front of his home, Harry had almost reached for the rope, to alert the driver that he wanted to get off. They were only going to be separated for a few days, but Rafe was standing next to the _Lexis_ , the same look of forlornness shadowing his handsome face Harold had seen on John’s all those months ago. Harry had wished to rush back to the other man, to grab him and tell him that their being apart, even for a few days, wouldn’t solve a thing.   _I wish now I had._

The day started as usual. He checked in at the office to pick up materials or lesson plans the regular teacher might leave if his or her absence was scheduled. Thankfully this was, Harry had lesson plans in hand when he walked into the classroom. The students were a bit rambunctious when he entered but quickly settled down. It was a relief to be at a school where discipline was strictly upheld, especially in regards to classroom behavior.

The morning passed quickly enough and Mr. Furnham excused the class for their hour lunch and playground break. While most of the faculty opted to spend that free hour in the faculty lounge eating food brought from home or purchased out of ridiculously priced vending machines for a school break room, Harry did neither. Even though it was many years ago, another lifetime ago, when he had had to live frugally, Harry had no problem doing so again. School system employees could eat for free or next to nothing in school cafeterias.

Mr. Furnham seated himself at an empty faculty table waiting until the last group of the students headed through the lunch line for the day. A boy of about nine or ten who remembered Furnham from last spring when Harry had subbed at the school bounced up next to his side asking where Jack was today. After five minutes the boy left with a wave eliciting a promise from Harry that Mr. Furnham would make sure to bring Jack the next time. Occupied with his chat with the young student Harry paid little attention to the activities at the lunch counter, toward any student or school employee.

Harry got up and took his place behind the last of the students pushing his tray along as members of the lunch staff dished out whatever food he asked for as he went down the line. He thanked an elderly lady for the generous helping she gave him of Salisbury steak then moved further along for the next entrée. Harry about slid the tray, food and all, straight off the metal bars when he looked over to see a familiar face dishing out ice cream scoops of mashed potatoes. It was Samantha Groves.

Root looked up just then to see Harold Finch standing in front of her. The woman appeared as shocked as Harry had felt, but recovered hurriedly and in a honeyed southern drawl asked, “Would you like an extra helping? You looked starved, Sugar.” He nodded yes and after she put an extra serving on his plate, Harry hurried away from the line as quickly as he could; feeling her eyes boring holes in his back all the way until he reached his place at the table.

Once seated Harry looked in her direction, but Miss Groves had returned to her duties not even looking his way. He ate slowly watching the woman warily. Harry knew she had never hurt a child, but still was fearful for the students’ safety. It really was hard to make a judgment in a scant half-hour of observation, but everyone, staff and children, appeared to like _Miss Tammy Sue_.

Harry had to keep his mind on finishing the rest of the day, but every so often his thoughts would stray to his unexpected meeting with the familiar face from his past life. Finally he just had to push those distractions forcefully to the side in his mind. Harry Furnham had a job to do, and not as temporary babysitter or class monitor the way Harold had woefully approached this new identity but teaching young minds, even though it was only the intricacies of long division; the last lesson for this day. Despite the quite shocking reminder today that his past truly wasn’t behind him, this is who he was now. A teacher. And if that was all he’ll ever be, Harold Finch is at peace with that.

With a reminder five minutes before the buzzer sounded ending the school day, Mr. Furnham reminded the class of their spelling assignment—twenty words and sentences using those words was due first thing the next morning—and bade the class goodbye for the day. As they exited the classroom chattering happily, Harry gathered his things wishing he could be so excited about getting to go home. Not only did his back and hip twinge minutely in remembrance of what they had been subjected to this morning and the repeat performance due to come, going home to an empty apartment made him feel…well empty. But he couldn’t stay here, so with a shrug and an inward groan Harry hobbled his way out of the school to meet the train.

Harry winced noticeably when he sat down on the subway car bench seat, grunting in pain. The sudden feeling of discomfort that made him stiffen had nothing to do with his physical aches but more the disquiet he felt when the woman was near. He didn’t need to turn in her direction to know who it was sitting down next to him.

Harry nodded turning his head slightly, drawing in an unsettled breath, “Miss…?”

“Tammy Sue, Tammy Sue Boudreaux.”  Root did her version of a conspiratorial wink before babbling on, “I was just on my way home and I saw you sitting here and I just had to come say hello. Do you live in Brooklyn? I do too with my roommate Celine. She’s out of town right now, selling drugs…I mean… Oh damn! I mean, what’s that big word? Oh, yes, pharmaceuticals. She’s one of those representatives, is that what you call them? Celine is a representative for Smith-Thomson, the big drug company. She travels all around the country, seeing all these grand places.”

Root or _Tammy Sue_ paused briefly to wave goodbye to the passengers that had been sitting across from them and were now exiting the car. To anyone around she appeared to be the country bumpkin, not yet hardened by NYC life, too friendly to virtual strangers.

 _Tammy Sue_ started back up hardly taking a breath before prattling on, “Now me, this is my first time in a big city. I grew up in this little bump in the road called Tuckerville. But, I just couldn’t wait though to get out of there, so now here I am. Started out real good too, I had this really great job. But things didn’t quite work out like I planned. My _boss_ loved me, wants me back someday, when the time is right again. There were four of us, well seven if you count the part-timers. _She_ wants us all back together someday.”

Trying to appear abashed for babbling on _Tammy Sue_ asked once more, “So do you live in Brooklyn?”

Root knew full well where he lived, but Harry politely answered. “Yes, I just moved there recently. I’m originally from Philadelphia.”

“Oh were you a teacher there too?” _Tammy Sue_ asked inquisitively.

Harold was tiring quickly answering questions that Miss Groves knew the answer to, but keeping up the charade Harry responded, “No, teaching is something new for me. Maybe not unlike you, unfortunate circumstances forced me to seek out different employment.”

“Oh so you would go back to your job too, if things changed?”

Harry blinked a few times, was Root asking if Harold was ready to resume their fight? He turned fully to face Tammy Sue, Samantha Groves, Root or whoever, “No, I like where my life is going now.”

Harold looked Root squarely in the eye and spoke low enough that no one else could hear, “I hope you both understand and respect my wishes. That part of my past is over. I’ve made too many sacrifices, lost more than I ever thought possible. I finally have a chance to be happy and at peace. Please allow me that.”

Root didn’t look satisfied at his words or some voice in her head, but then smiled, “Of course. We understand.”

When Harold arose to exit at his stop, Root grabbed his arm, “Take care of yourself…Harry, Rafe too.”

Harry stood on the platform watching as the cars pulled away; wondering if that would be the last he saw of _Miss Tammy Sue_.

Now sitting in his recliner Harold was still mulling over whether he would see Root again? Did he do the right thing in looking toward his own happiness foremost when he’d told The Machine goodbye? Would John be pleased with the decision he’d made for them both. What if John wanted to continue their mission?

At seven-thirty Harry knocked at his friend’s door. She swung it wide open, smiling a warm greeting until she saw his face and his troubled expression. “Come on in and tell me all about it!”

She pulled him towards the couch, not even waiting until they sat down to ask, “Did your date not go well? I thought...I assumed that you were...you both came home together.”

Harry sat back hands on his knees, “Things went well, maybe a little too well.”

“I don’t understand, Harry. How can things go, too well?”

“Rafe wants me. Those doubts I had were all laid to rest. He set out a feast fit for a sultan, treated me like a king, and worshipped me almost.” Harry fairly radiated recalling the blanket spread beneath the trees, the food, Rafe’s flirting and kisses.

Puzzled Martha asked, “That’s what you had hoped for. How can you say it went too well?”

Embarrassed to tell Martha, what happened physically, Harry felt the flush heating his face but still confided in his friend, “Things got affectionate, we would have…anyways we were interrupted, thankfully.”

Harry swallowed, “I wanted to…um…return his attentions. I couldn’t. I was afraid.”

“I still don’t understand, why?”

Harry held his hands out; the tremors were barely visible but still there. “I was afraid to touch him, intimately.”

Martha grabbed his hands, “Oh honey these will go away.”

“I know; I’ve stopped the drinking. Rafe understands that I just need some time to get better. He’s willing to wait.”

Martha squeezed the hands reassuringly, “See I told you he’s mad in love with you. Now, you want to tell me why you looked like you just found out you’re getting audited?”

“I met someone from our past, someone involved in the reason why Rafe and I are in hiding.” Harry swallowed hard. “I know Rafe will be troubled that she crossed my path. He doesn’t like her, but she is part of what we used to do. It was our mission and that mission gave Rafe a purpose in life. When things went south, we had to abandon our lives, our identities. We both lost so much because of it. Now we have a chance to lead normal happy lives. What once used to be everything to me is not important anymore; only Rafe’s wellbeing is now. I told her that she and our associates needed to continue without us when the time comes.”

“You love Rafe. Of course you care about him more than yourself. That’s what love is.”

Harry worried his lip. “I know, but I’m afraid I might have been selfish to include us both. What if Rafe wants to continue?”

“Harry look at me! I only spoke to your young man for thirty-minutes. I’m not saying I am the perfect judge of how anyone feels about anyone. But, that man’s only purpose now is you Harry Furnham."

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet date night next


	15. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday was finally here. Harry felt more confident than he’d had in ages. He’d left the school satisfied with how he had spent his four days there, teaching not babysitting, feeling somewhat sad to be leaving, not happy to escape. He was proud of himself, proud of Rafe’s heroics after hearing about the robbery attempt. After being apart for days, Harry was looking forward to treating them to the special night they both deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yummy food, sure wish there was an Italian  
> restaurant closer to where I live than 100 miles.  
> Thanks again to managerie for all her help
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/9148.html)

 

Harry changed his mind in mid-dial, calling Martha instead. He’d been so distracted by his encounter with Root; he didn’t even think to check for messages on his answering machine. His car could be picked up anytime, only he needed a ride. Harry just didn’t feel safe walking even a short distance from the nearest public transportation drop off to the garage. His mechanic was honest and charged reasonable prices, but his shop was located in an iffy neighborhood.

Rafe was more than likely still out with Sherry, at a fundraiser one of her family was chairing; he didn’t want to disrupt their evening. He owed the woman that much, she had been so supportive of Rafe, offering her car and her family’s private lake for his and Harry’s picnic date. Nor did Harry want to appear a jealous fool using the excuse of a need for a ride to call the member’s only club where the fundraiser was being held at to ask to speak to Rafe.

So Martha it was. Arrangements were made; they’d meet at the brownstone Tuesday after Harry returned from his job. That still meant another trip to and from the school on the MTA and another chance meeting with _Miss Tammy Sue._

Nothing untoward happened Tuesday. Harry’s time in the classroom went well and _Tammy Sue_ paid him scant attention when he’d taken lunch in the school cafeteria again.

Yet he was not surprised when the brunette sat next to him on the subway leg of his journey home. _Tammy Sue_ blathered along as she had the day before. “I have some of the best news. My roommate Celine, remember the one I told you about yesterday? Well she’s done met up with some of my _boss’s_ old business rivals. You know of all things, they ain’t rivals no more; they wanna work for _her_ now. They were in cahoots with those awful people who made all that trouble for us. Well you know those bad, bad people put one over on them to boot. We are gonna set up some place new, so I won’t be seeing you again, Sugar. We coulda been great friends I think.”

Once again when Harold exited the subway car, Samantha Groves rode off to a destination unknown.

Wednesday _Miss_ _Tammy Sue Boudreaux_ wasn’t behind the lunch counter. Scuttlebutt was she quit to go back home to Tuckerville, family problems. So was Root really gone? Harry was too absorbed in teaching subject matters to give that question another thought for the rest of the afternoon.

The old blue Taurus wasn’t much to look at but Harry sighed when he sank into its interior. Compared to the torture devices passing as seating on public transportation, sitting on the car’s springy, fraying cloth covered driver’s side bucket seat was a blessed relief.

When he went to move his battered briefcase to the floorboard from the center console where he had tossed it getting into the car, Harry noticed a plastic shopping bag from a well-known pet supply store lying on the passenger side seat. Curiosity over-ruled caution as he picked up the bag to check out its contents of a silver studded collar, a pack of rawhide sticks, and three different chew toys. Harry also pulled out a slip of paper on which was scribbled, ‘I’m really going to miss you guys, especially the dog. Thank you for everything. S.’

The short beep of a car horn had Harold looking up from reading the note. Passing by was a sleek late model sports car, behind the wheel was Ms. Shaw who nodded and gave a salute goodbye. Samantha Groves sat next to her looking vaguely sad but grimly determined.

Watching their car round a corner disappearing from sight, Harold knew the answer. Driving back to his apartment, Harry mouthed the words, _Thank you—Goodbye_ , as the car passed by the first traffic cam.

###

Rafe turned off the treadmill, stepping down to grab his towel and take a sip of bottled water. He didn’t mind that Sherry had replaced him as her companion to the benefit with Detective Fusco. They were still eating their lunch in the little sandwich shop when Fusco had called Sherry’s cell. Rafe didn’t listen in on their conversation, so he was a bit surprised and oddly relieved to find Sherry had charmed the detective into accompanying her this evening.

Unfortunately though, being dateless left him with a free evening with nothing to do.

Rafe’s first inclination was to use his key to the brownstone apartment—Harry had given him one so he wouldn’t need to _break in_ —and be there with the proverbial open arms waiting for the man’s return. Only they had made a promise to each other to move forward together, but how fast or how far would be at Harry’s chosen pace. Showing up unexpectedly again probably wouldn’t get him thrown out on his ear, Harry would sweetly invite Rafe to lay next to him once more and they would hold each other close. Sweetly though was not how Rafe wanted to end up in bed again; hotly, desperately pulling at each other’s clothes, Harry’s hands all over him, claiming Rafe as his own was how Rafe wanted to get there.

So here he was now, working out at Riley’s Gym, hoping the strenuous physical regime he was putting himself through would release some of the sexual tension he was feeling and also tire himself enough to fall asleep, alone. Rafe really didn’t expect anything, he hadn’t slept in months, only three times in all those days had he truly rested.

The exercise didn’t work. He didn’t sleep.

Tuesday, Rafe ended up at Sherry’s after her shift at the diner ended, bored to death and restless with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Rafe’s little boyfriend was a teacher, gone during the day and Rafe wasn’t needed nor wanted at the diner. Sherry loved spending all their free time together with Rafe before but now, now he was driving her crazy. Following her around like a lost puppy, for two afternoons and evenings. Thank God! It would be over soon.

Rafe had grabbed her and waltzed her around the condo’s living room Tuesday afternoon after calling Harry’s number from her house phone. Rafe reminded her then of her best friend in high school when she was asked by Mr. Football to go to the prom. With both their weekends free, Harry had set up a date for Thursday and after that? Well hopefully, after that, whatever the reason was for Rafe not spending more time with his heartthrob, it would be resolved. Rafe in love was truly adorable and sweet, but enough was enough!

+++

Thursday was finally here. Harry felt more confident than he’d had in ages. He’d left the school satisfied with how he had spent his four days there, teaching not babysitting, feeling somewhat sad to be leaving, not happy to escape. He was proud of himself, proud of Rafe’s heroics after hearing about the robbery attempt. After being apart for days, Harry was looking forward to treating them to the special night they both deserved.

On the way home Harry had dipped into the supposed settlement money and bought himself a nice suit—not bespoke, but an excellent cut and fit in a color he remembered John had loved seeing Harold in—and a bottle of men’s cologne its fragrance similar to what he’d worn in that hotel room in D.C. While buttoning up his shirt and tying his tie his hand were steady, no signs of the tremors. If the night ended the way he hoped it would, he was ready.

Harry’s confidence wavered a bit when picking up Rafe at his place for their date. He slid into the passenger seat of Harry’s Taurus dressed in blue jeans, a pale blue pin-striped dress shirt, and navy blue sports coat. Moving in to give Harry a kiss ‘hello’, Rafe took notice of how fine, the other man looked and pulled back suddenly looking apologetic. “I don’t have a good suit anymore or ties. None of my friends wear them to even loan me one. Sorry.”

Harry mentally kicked himself. Rafe might not be in a tux, but he was still the most gorgeous man in the city. He nodded, “That is quite alright. No need to be sorry. We are going to a nice place, a restaurant Harry Furnham can afford. Nothing like those upscale establishments with strict dress codes, they won’t require a tie. But thank you for wearing a jacket.” Rafe shrugged feeling Harry was still disappointed somehow.

They managed to make light and enjoyable conversation all the way to the restaurant despite the awkwardness from earlier.

As they pulled up to Geno’s Italian Eatery Rafe tried to keep to their arrangement. He would follow Harry’s lead, letting him take control of the night’s activities. Harry had picked the restaurant, driven them here, and now Rafe even allowed Harry to open his door before a parking lot attendant parked their car.

Once inside Harry’s face fell again. The place was a mom and pop that had seen better days. It was clean and neat, but obviously deserted and in need of renovations. The owner greeted them with enthusiasm and gave them the best table near the bandstand since only a single elderly patron was in the whole joint. A lonely piano player who looked like a refugee from a _Rat Pack_ tribute band played a mournful rendition of _Volare_ without vocals. He was smoking and tipping back a whiskey bottle straight from the neck. The entire atmosphere screamed _seen better days_.

Trying to make the best of it, Rafe asked Harry to pick the wine. Harry paused momentarily at the thought of drinking anything alcoholic before asking for the wine list. Surprisingly the listings were vintage wines. Although it felt more like the wine was old because no one bought it for decades rather than the list being purchased recently. But when it showed up, the wine was delicious.  Harry was pleased and ordered the whole bottle. They shared sweet _bruschetta_ that was freshly made with thick crusty bread slices.

Rafe ordered the _veal picatta,_ a dish he had wanted to add to the menu in his own diner. Sampling it in a real Italian restaurant would help him perfect the recipe he was creating. Harry ordered the _chicken Marsala._

The food was as excellent. Their conversation was light and flirty. Harry was thoroughly enjoying wining and dining his breathtakingly handsome companion, although he himself drank sparingly. Once they were finished with the main course they shared an order of _tiramisu_. Seeing Harry so relaxed and convivial now, Rafe couldn’t help but feel a bit playful and feed Harry some of the classic dessert.

Harry started, jerking his head to the side causing the fork to fly out of Rafe’s hand and land on the floor.  Why did the thought pop into his head at that moment how inappropriate it was for two men to feed each other? Why did it bother him so much just because they were in public? Mortified, Harry excused himself and fled to the washroom.

Rafe felt badly that something done impulsively had embarrassed the older man so much, Harry had rushed away so red-faced and humiliated that he’d nearly fallen into the next table. Well Rafe had certainly ended this night on a bad note. He signaled the server over to ask for the check and a box for the unfinished dessert, but Rafe stopped himself when he noticed the balcony beyond billowy curtains. Rafe had to salvage the night somehow, so instead he asked if the dessert and some espresso could be set up on the terrace. The owner who was concerned over the scene he had just witnessed and had approached the table to see if there was something he could do, agreed with a smile before walking away talking animatedly with the server.

On his way to the bathroom to retrieve his date, Rafe slipped the pianist a twenty and asked him to play some slow dancing music for the next half hour. Atmosphere and location were taken care of; Rafe opened the men’s room door. “Knock, knock.”

Rafe saw Harry drying his red face over the sink. Rafe came behind the little man and encircled his waist. Rafe laid his chin on Harry’s shoulders, smiling into their mirrored reflection. Rafe tightened his grip as the shorter man relaxed into his hold.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, “I am a wreck and you should just get out now while you can.”

Rafe kissed Harry’s neck right above the collar, then behind an ear. “It’s too late for that. My heart is determined and my head agrees.” Rafe chuckled naughtily and bumped his hip into Harry’s butt, “Both heads actually.”

Harry snorted a laugh of his own and smiled despite himself, “Stop that, I am trying to be in a bad mood.”

Rafe turned Harry around and kissed him chastely, “I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night. Dropping the fork was funny not embarrassing. We can tell our grand puppies about it in a few years. “

Harry laughed again and drew Rafe into a hug, “I just wanted everything to be just so. I can’t afford to wine and dine you like I used to.” Harry swallowed, “No jet sitting off to Poland for fried _perogies_ anymore.”

Rafe hugged Harry tight, pushed him away, straightened his tie then led them both out of the restroom saying, “Double fried, but you will recall that I was not impressed then and I am not impressed now by that sort of thing.”

When Harry made to head for the exit, Rafe slid his arm into the crook of his date’s elbow and guided them both past moving curtains onto a terrace that held a single table with espresso, cups, and the remains of their dessert. Two tall, drippy candles were lit. They did not detract from the beautiful night sky. Harry gasped at the sight and turned to Rafe. “Thank you.”

Rafe dipped his head to capture Harry’s lips again. Just then the piano started playing _Bella Notte_. Rafe smiled and took Harry into his arms. “Dance with me? This is my favorite song from my favorite movie.”

Slowly they began to sway in the age old white man’s shuffle. Not really dancing, more of a swaying into each other. Rafe hummed a few bars and said, “I really should have ordered spaghetti and meatballs. Then I could have scooted a meatball to you. We could have tried to eat a piece of pasta together to end in a kiss.”

Rafe was smiling to himself, but Harry was a bit surprised. A man that should have been hardened and bitter from life was romancing him with remembrances of a tale of innocent love? Rafe took them through a slow turn and Harry asked, “Rafe? You mean to tell me that your favorite movie is Disney's _Lady & the Tramp?”_

Rafe stopped and looked at Harry, “Well, yes. Isn't it obvious?”

Harry shook his head so Rafe continued to dance while he explained, “A street dog, a mongrel is saved by a well-heeled rich dog. The Tramp gains a love and a family, a community as well.” Rafe kissed Harry gently. “The Tramp even calls his love Pigeon; a bird name.”

Harry grinned at Rafe, “That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. I am delighted to learn this. We need to watch the movie together one day snuggling on the couch.”

Rafe agreed and they danced through the next song. Finally, they sat close at the small table and fed each other between sips of dark, rich espresso. Once the table was cleared Harry paid the check and the lovers left holding hands.

Inside the car Rafe kept a hand on Harry’s thigh and asked if they could go to Rafe’s place for a nightcap. It was a subtle request that Harry could decline if he still needed time. Harry accepted the invitation.

Both men were breathless with expectation as they drove to the apartment and parked. Rafe opened the doors for Harry this time. The elevator ride was agony. Both men stared at the floor indicators in anticipation.

When the bell dinged they exited in a rush. Harry nearly stumbled and Rafe caught him. They began to kiss fiercely, passionate kisses that lingered and took all their concentration. They hit a wall then slid along it until Rafe’s back hit a door knob, he grunted a mild curse, and they parted laughing. Rafe quickly got the door opened and they were inside. It was a modest apartment, small by any standards, barely 17’ x 17’, but the bed next to the far wall was still too far away. Only two steps inside both men fell onto the couch tearing at the other’s clothes.

Harry was pushed down onto his back by Rafe who pulled up both their shirts to expose their flies. Rafe unbuttoned Harry while Harry unzipped Rafe. Each man grappled to get ahold of the other. The only trembling in Harry’s hands now was from need. But his grasp was firm, as was Rafe’s; each man stroked the heated fullness of the other in their fists. Harry groaned low, he had missed this, missed the touch of the one who loved him. Most of all, returning that intimacy to the one person that had claimed his heart, mind, body, and soul.

Rafe’s breath hitched as Harry palmed down his length to squeeze the tip of him between a thumb and forefinger. His eyelids lowered with the erogenous sensation, white flashes of light igniting behind them. Rafe’s hips began to rock, pressing down. Harry rose up to meet his lover thrust for thrust. Pre-come began to ooze, lubricating the friction of their heated rhythm. Both men moaned in pleasure, their motions intent on bringing the other sublime satisfaction.

Harry’s face was flushed with arousal, glistening with the sheen of perspiration. Rafe opened his eyes to see the sight of his lover basking in pleasure. His heart tightened not from sorrow of lonely days past, but with happiness to be allowed this special moment with a very private person, to be loved completely by this very gentle caring man.

Their thrusts were beginning to tip over into mindless rutting when a loud knock was heard at Rafe’s door. A woman was yelling for Rafe and nearly shaking the door off its hinges.

Both of the men froze briefly, they just stared at each other stunned then hurriedly they began to scramble apart. Each man returned their wet, swollen erections into their trousers. The bending was painful, but the urgency in the woman’s voice could not be ignored.

Rafe was presentable first and rushed to the door to unlock it. He cracked the door a bit and popped his head out. It was Rosita, one of Rafe’s neighbor’s. Her roommate, Angie had an ex-boyfriend who was violating the restraining order. He was in the apartment trying to drag Angie bodily out of the building.

Of course Rafe would charge to the rescue, **his** tall, brave, heroic Rafe. Still worry had Harry jumping at every sound he heard outside until Rafe stepped back into the apartment, breathless but apparently unharmed. Seeing how the concern for his safety had put fear in Harry’s eyes, Rafe gathered Harry into his arms seeking to reassure him that everything was alright.

Kissing down the side of Harry’s face, Rafe spoke softly as if calming a frightened child, “Shhh, I’m back now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

When the rapid beating of both their hearts slowed down to normal, Rafe moved them both over to the couch. “I really am sorry for that, but you know I had to go?” Rafe rhymed, “My neighbors sure can find a way to put out a fire though.”

Hoping to maybe rekindle the blaze, Rafe leaned in for a kiss. He tried not to show hurt when Harry pushed him away.

Harry hastened to explain, “No. No. Oh God no. I still want you, more than anything right now. I just don’t know if you’ll want me after you hear what I have to say.”

Rafe looked troubled, but still shook his head vehemently and said, “There is nothing on earth that will ever make me not want you.”

Harold drew a shaky breath and related everything that had happened with Root ending with Shaw and her goodbye.

“I should have told you sooner, but it was something that I felt couldn’t be discussed over the phone.” Harold paused and looked at John with regretful eyes, “I wanted Harry and Rafe's night to be so special, I selfishly decided to keep this news to myself.”

“But this tonight…” Harold waved a hand towards the door, “This reminded me how much you need to help people. I should have asked you first if you wanted out for good.

John sat silently until Harold went to get up, “I think I should go.”

“Stay!”

Rafe grasped Harry by the arm. “Stay the night. Please?”

Harry nearly collapsed with relief onto the couch, under the arm Rafe pulled him down with. They sat there side by side, Rafe’s arm draped possessively across his shoulders.

John lowered his voice as if he wanted no one else to hear, “For a genius Harold, sometimes you are so clueless. The mission gave me a purpose. But, you gave me a reason to live.”

Later, with only the sounds of deep sleep heard from his partner, Harold carded his fingers in the salt and pepper hair, “You give me a reason to live too, John.”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter after fun at the fair  
> Harry and Rafe head home  
> no neighbors of any kind interrupt.  
> Martha wouldn't dare!!!!


	16. Breakfast and Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utensils could be heard clattering onto plates or skidding across the tile floor. Groans of disappointment could be heard from female customers, sighs of relief from the male diners, one teenage girl with glasses and braces actually started crying before running into the ladies’ room. One woman even uttered an oath worthy of any sailor then bemoaned, “Damn it! Why are the good ones always gay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rafe takes Harry to breakfast and they make plans for their next date.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/9231.html)

 

Sometime during the night Rafe stirred. Not fully awake, he blinked attempting to see into the unfamiliar murk of his apartment. New York City was never truly dark, even at night. Only that didn’t matter; Rafe slept or attempted to with daylight streaming through his non-shaded window not in a room lit from the pale glow of a city never truly at rest. What happened to the soldier, the government operative who could wake suddenly and drop a target dead center in the pitch black?

An arm reaching out pulling Rafe back close reminded him that man no longer needed to exist. Grasping a hand to cinch the arm even more tightly around him, the former agent burrowed into the warmth of the man lying next to him. Heartbeats and the sounds of Harry’s soft breathing were a sweet lullaby as Rafe’s eyelids fluttered close.

Harry slowly slipped his legs off the bed hoping the mattress would not shimmy too much and wake Rafe. Carefully Harry stood up, the removal of his weight only causing a slight creak in the old box springs.  He hobbled quietly towards the couch intending to gather up his clothes but froze when Rafe coughed and slung his arm over the empty space where Harry had slept. Harry stood stock still for several minutes until he was sure Rafe wasn’t going to wake up, then scooped up his clothes and withdrew into the bathroom to dress.

Rafe coughed and turned sleepily to pull Harry close. When his arm only found cool empty sheet he opened his eyes to seek out his missing bed mate. In the semi-darkness Harry was standing immobile next to the couch. Rafe’s thought was Harry was going to use the bathroom and was trying not to disturb Rafe’s slumber, so Rafe relaxed waiting on Harry’s return.

Harry couldn’t help his barely audible grunt at the twinge in his back as he bent over to pull on his socks. A quick glance over at the bed assured him that the sound hadn’t disturbed the still sleeping Rafe who was now laying on his back a forearm partially covering his face. Harold opted not to put on his shoes and in stocking feet crept to the door. Harry slid the note he had scribbled on the back of an old deposit slip under Rafe’s truck keys on the stand near the door.

Rafe turned on his back and covered his eyes with his forearm, a force of habit that came from blocking out the bright light of day when he normally tried to sleep. He lifted his arm slightly when he heard the click of the light switch and the bathroom door’s feeble squeak as it opened. Peering out from under his arm to watch Harry come back to bed, the last thing Rafe expected was to see the man exit the bath fully clothed sans tie, shoes, and socks. His stomach panged momentarily with disappointment in Harry that he would just leave without a word. Until he watched Harry slide the piece of paper under his car keys and the disappointment directed itself inward. How could I think such a thing?

Of course Harry would never do something as low as sneaking away and Rafe only meant to make light of his own initial reaction but…

Harry reached for the knob to open the door and if it were physically possible he would have jumped ten feet in the air when he heard Rafe’s accusing, “I didn’t take you for the type to be gone by the morning light. You weren’t even going to call me, were you?”

Harry whirled around red-faced and indignant, “I would never do such a thing. How can you accuse me of being some insidious cad?”

Rafe sat up startled, "Whoa! I was only joking. I don’t know why I said that, it was a stupid thing to even imply.” Rafe mumbled to himself while smacking his forehead with his palms, “I’m an idiot.” He then held out his hands imploringly, “I know you would never _ditch_ me.” Rafe dropped his hands to the mattress and smiled weakly, “Besides I know where you live. You couldn’t _ditch_ me even if you tried. I have the key, remember?”

Harry looked embarrassed as he realized he had over reacted, “I'm sorry Rafe."

Rafe got off the bed and took Harry into his arms. “Hey we both are a little on edge, afraid something is going to go wrong. These misunderstanding are going to happen. It will be my turn next time."

“I should have let you know I was leaving to go check on Jack, but you were sleeping so soundly.” Harry pulled back a bit to raise his hand and rub a thumb gently across a chiseled cheekbone, under a barely visible darkened circle, “You needed your rest.” Rafe grasped Harry’s hand to kiss the palm before he dropped it to step out of their embrace. He cleared his throat choked up at Harry’s care and concern, “So are we good again?”

Harry reached down to grab the slip of paper from the stand and held it out to Rafe, “Of course. I invited you for lunch at my place. The offer still stands.”

“That does sound tempting. Only I have an even better idea.” Rafe pulled a curious Harry back over to the couch. He laughed at Harry’s huff of excitement. “No not that.  As much as I’d like to continue where we left off last night, I just want you to sit back and wait while I get dressed. We’ll go check on Jack together, and then I’ll take you to breakfast. I know this little diner that serves the best _eggs Benedict_.”

***

Rafe took out the extremely frisky canine for his morning walk; Jack had beat his tail furiously and turned himself in near dizzying circles—sometimes even well trained ex-military dogs forget their discipline—when both of his humans had entered the apartment together. Man and dog only walked around the block, but Jack seemed to be strutting proudly, proclaiming to the neighborhood, _‘Look everyone! This is my Alpha!’_

After he exercised Jack, Rafe waited on the couch playing a game of tug of war with the dog using a piece of soft rubber resembling a thick automotive belt. The game stopped mid tug when Rafe let go of his end to stand and whistle with appreciation when his breakfast date shyly appeared before him.

Harry had showered, shaved, and changed into a short sleeved print shirt, tiny dark blue diamonds on the palest of blues, with the top three buttons left undone. The slacks he’d paired with the shirt were a satiny deep indigo. Rafe looked Harry up and down then up again before moving in close.

Rafe reached out to run a forefinger over the smattering of chest hair left visible above the last fastened button, up Harry’s throat and around to the back of his neck where Rafe let his finger slide under the shirt’s collar. Rafe breathed in deep of soap and cologne, Harry’s scent, “You look and smell good enough to eat.” With a sigh of disappointment he removed his hand and stepped back to put some space between them, “Sadly, man cannot live on love alone. But after we have some food I plan to get some dessert.” Rafe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Harold handed Rafe the Taurus keys heading down the walk, “Since only you know where we are going, I think it would be easier for you to drive us there rather than give me directions.” Harry raised a questioning eye when Rafe turned the car at the first intersection in the complete opposite direction of the place Harry had assumed they were going. _‘Try the eggs Benedict Mr. Reese. I’ve had them many times.’_

Harry sat up straighter recognizing the route they were taking. “We are going to Perry’s?”

Rafe grinned and reached over to pat Harry’s knee, “It’s no _Four Seasons_ I admit, but our fare can give theirs a run for their money. Besides I want to show off my boyfriend.”

Five minutes late Rafe pulled the car into a parking slot in front of the building, one in full view of the diner’s large windows. To prove he meant what he said, Rafe twisted in his seat, leaned over, reached out to turn Harry’s face towards him, and kissed Harry possessively leaving little doubt to anyone watching that the two men were involved.

Harry should have felt self-conscious or mildly embarrassed when a diner full of customers had stopped eating their meal eyeing the two new arrivals in disbelief. Instead Harry couldn’t help but hold his head up a little higher because Rafe had declared with that kiss Harry was his.

They entered the diner boldly as a couple.When Tom rushed over to chide Rafe for disobeying Tom’s order to stay away Rafe had boomed out loud enough for the whole dining room to hear, “Relax Tom! I’m just here to buy Harry here some breakfast. We worked up an appetite this morning.” Rafe winked, “If you know what I mean?”

Utensils could be heard clattering onto plates or skidding across the tile floor. Groans of disappointment could be heard from female customers, sighs of relief from the male diners, one teenage girl with glasses and braces actually started crying before running into the ladies’ room. One woman even uttered an oath worthy of any sailor then bemoaned, “Damn it! Why are the good ones always gay?”

Feigning ignorance of the commotion surrounding them, Rafe ordered two of the Wren Specials off Perry’s Early Bird menu. Rafe was not exaggerating about the _egg Benedict_. They were delicious, the best Harry had ever tasted. Rafe boasted it was his own special variation and that he had named it after someone who meant, still means the world to him.

Harry choked out an emotional, “Thank you.” Finding a distraction in an attempt not to display what he was feeling—swaggering into the diner figuratively on Rafe’s arm was one thing, almost coming to tears over Rafe’s words of devotion was quite another—Harry fidgeted with a flyer he picked up from between the napkin holder and the condiment tray.

The flyer was about the fair being held at a nearby mall. Harry had loved going to the county fairs with his father, a farmer and son attending livestock shows or visiting agricultural exhibits. But there was also the food, the free concerts, and the rides. One of the few dates Harry and his first crush had been able to go on was to the fair that summer before he’d turned seventeen. He’d stolen his first kiss as they rode the Ferris wheel. But by winter that time of youthful innocence was gone forever.

Harry looked up and over at Rafe. Their naiveté of the world and its ways was destroyed for them long ago leaving an indelible mark. Yet in these new lives they had a chance to be just two men whose only worries at the moment were heartbroken women and what to do on their day off. Of course this fair would be nothing like the ones in his youth, but there would be a Ferris wheel and food. Looking out at the New York City skyline instead of endless fields of corn, sneaking kisses with Rafe, not a long ago crush, as the ride carried them skyward or holding Rafe’s hand as they strolled the midway stopping occasionally to share funnel cake or some other sweet treat would be a hundred, no a thousand times better than that long ago summer day. Harry handed Rafe the flyer, “I know you have other … um … activities planned for later, but would you like to go?”

Rafe took the flyer, reading it over. Then he looked quizzically across the table, “I didn’t think a fair was your thing Har...Harry. I know how much you value your privacy. You sure you want to go somewhere that public?”

Harry looked around the dinner, “I do believe that issue is moot now. I want to be seen with you Rafe Rissole.” Harry leaned over adding under his breath, “Besides I believe any unwelcome observers are going to have more serious things to deal with than a gay couple out having a good time playing carnival games, riding rides, and eating corn dogs.”

Rafe nodded his blue eyes lighting up with pure happiness, “Okay then. I would love to go.” Rafe looked at Harry from under his lashes trying to appear coy. “I haven’t eaten a corn dog in a very long time.”

Harry blushed as Rafe smirked. When Harry regained his composure he volleyed, “Well, perhaps you can watch me eat a chocolate covered frozen banana.”

Rafe chuckled so hard he nearly choked. Harry smiled in triumph as he went over to the bank of phones to call Martha about checking on Jack through the day while Rafe paid for the check. They met at the door, Rafe pecking Harry’s cheek with a quick kiss, “Everything all set?”

“All set. Martha is bringing Jack downstairs to keep her company. I was literally ordered to ‘Go! Have some fun! Don't come back until you have!’ You do not disobey that woman's orders." Harry pretended to be terrified then added completely in innocence. “So apparently I am yours for the rest of the day.”

“While I like to take charge in the kitchen, I think I prefer you in the driver’s seat.” Rafe leaned down to kiss Harry softly on the lips and hand back the keys, “Your turn to drive.”

Rafe opened the door to allow Harry to exit the diner. Before Rafe himself left he turned and waved goodbye to his boss and co-workers. He passed through the door and looked at Harry sitting behind the wheel of his old Ford. The day was warm but not scorching, the wind was pleasant, and Rafe had a date with the sweetest, smartest, and kindest man he ever met. Best of all, everyone who knew Rafe now knew that Rafe was off the market for good. Things were looking up.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not yet. I got too long-winded with breakfast.  
> But fun at the fair and later when they get home...  
> No Interruptions!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> EN: Perry's breakfast customers doubled btw. Workers; married, engaged or otherwise;  
> that normally came alone began bringing their significant others.  
> Rafe the greek god in a cook's apron was taken.


	17. The Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course being middle-aged men, neither Rafe nor Harry had ever heard of the group—a garage band of six young people barely out of their teens known as The Screeching Cats. Once the two were seated, Rafe nudged Harry in the ribs with his elbow and with the straightest of faces lamented, “The band’s name is Screeching Cats. This is Verdi.”
> 
> Harry turned his shoulders to face Rafe in confusion, “What does a well-known opera have to do with…” Then it dawned on him – screeching cat, Verdi, D.C. – and Harry laughed, really laughed. “Well let’s just hope this group’s music isn’t as horrendous as their name implies. I’d hate to put you through such torture once again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day at the fair ends in a night at the brownstone.
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/9667.html)
> 
> Once again I thank [managerie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/managerie/pseuds/managerie) for helping me out with some of this chapter  
> and for pointing out a big no-no.

 

Harry found a place to park the Taurus fairly close to the entrance to the fair, attendance being light at that time of the morning. Most of the concession stands and the rides were still closed, but a flyer handed to them at the fair entrance listed events to be held in a tent pavilion set up at the far end of the concourse. There was a concert scheduled for eleven, a local band being featured in a tribute to the 80’s and 90’s.

Rafe looked around and was about to suggest maybe going into the mall for a cold drink to wait until things picked up; not believing that kind of concert to be something Harry would want to attend.

Of course, Harry had done the unexpected just wanting to attend the fair at all. So Rafe should not have been surprised when the other man commented, “It seems we are a bit early for the general festivities, but we are just in time for the first show. Would you like to hear them?”

Rafe bent over to whisper in Harry’s ear, “I thought _Verdi_ was more your style, not golden oldies from the _Hit Parade_.”

Three twenty-sums passing by on their way to the show who had slowed down to throw flirtatious glances Rafe’s way scuttled off in a hurry, chattering among themselves when he playfully nipped Harry’s ear, kissed Harry’s cheek, then said loudly, “Darlin, don’t you know I go where you go?” He circled Harry’s back with his arm guiding them in the direction of the pavilion.

Of course being middle-aged men, neither Rafe nor Harry had ever heard of the group—a garage band of six young people barely out of their teens known as _The Screeching Cats_. Once the two were seated, Rafe nudged Harry in the ribs with his elbow and with the straightest of faces lamented, “The band’s name is _Screeching Cats_. This is _Verdi_.”

Harry turned his shoulders to face Rafe in confusion, “What does a well-known opera have to do with…” Then it dawned on him – screeching cat, _Verdi_ , D.C. – and Harry laughed, really laughed. “Well let’s just hope this group’s music isn’t as horrendous as their name implies. I’d hate to put you through such torture once again.”

Despite their name and the fact most of the songs the band played were hits before most of them were even born, the group was quite good. Rafe just sat back, his arm over Harry’s shoulders and enjoyed the music not daring to sing along like some of the crowd was doing; Rafe may have been blessed with looks and a speaking voice to die for but he was quite tone deaf. Ah, but Harry, Harry was different.

Every so often Harry would join in and that voice, that voice. But why not? In a day full of surprises already, add to that list that Harry knew some of the words to most every song and could sing them too. The music was good, sitting close to Harry and listening to him was even better; all too soon the concert was over.

When they exited the tent there was more of a crowd; the rides were open and the game concessionaires were shouting above the din of screams and laughter. The mixed smells coming from the food vendors filled the air.

For it being such a tiny mall fair, Rafe and Harry still spent hours just strolling the midway hand in hand. Of course the first thing they did was buy corn dogs. Harry sputtered and nearly choked when Rafe deep throated the golden fried treat well past the stick. Slowly pulling it back out - he wrapped his mouth around it; his tongue circled the end suggestively after it passed his lips. Rafe then winked, took a bite, and chewed. “Mmm delicious,” he said after swallowing with a lewd gulp and smacking his lips.

They shared most of the treats they ate like nachos smothered in cheese, a gigantic pretzel, or funnel cake. Of course Harry did get _sweet_ revenge later in the day repeating Rafe’s show from earlier only with a frozen chocolate covered banana.

Of course Rafe being Rafe there weren’t that many of the games he couldn’t win and Harry didn’t feel the least bit silly or embarrassed every time his boyfriend won him some silly little stuffed animal or other vulgar prize.

Between the games, the food, and the concerts the afternoon passed by quickly. They even garnered a bit of a following that would aw or clap happily every time Rafe won his date a prize including a tan furry lion, an orange with black stripes growling tiger, and even a long green snake dotted with black spots, cross-eyed, and a long red tongue. While Harry would save them both a seat for the next event in the pavilion, Rafe would run newly acquired zoo animals to the car.

Every concert Harry wanted to attend—a local high school orchestra, bands performing country and western or today’s contemporary—they went to them all. Rafe mentally tossed out his shockers of the day list and just basked in being in the older man’s company, Rafe’s arm over his shoulders as Harry leaned into Rafe’s side.

When the last concert ended afternoon had given way to evening. While Harry had spent most of it with Rafe’s arm over his shoulder letting the taller man guide him this way or that, he grasped his partner’s large hand in his and pulled Rafe towards the Ferris wheel.

They passed a shooting game on the way there, a game they had missed along the way as it sat alone off to the side of the main concourse. Rafe halted and watched the others trying their luck. He stepped onto the stand, paid his money, but instead of using the air rifle the barker loaded for him, Rafe chose a different one and said, “I’ll use this one, please?”

Harry stood back and watched as Rafe shot target after target dead center, winning a bigger prize each time and trading it in for another try. When the barker finally told Rafe he’d won the biggest prize available and handed him the largest teddy bear adorned with a tie, a waistcoat, and a pair of plastic glasses, Rafe stepped down from the platform and handed the stuffed animal to Harry. “He reminds me of you,” Rafe smirked.

The barker removed his hat and scratched his head as he watched the two walk away — one tall, dark and probably deadly when pushed, the other looking to be as harmless as that teddy bear — an odd pair those two.

Rafe, Harry, and the giant teddy bear made for an unusual sight standing in line waiting their turn at the Ferris wheel. After being reassured for the twentieth time from Harry that he would be all right, Rafe had let Harry pull him by his hand as they progressed through the line until they were able to climb the short set steps and settle in an empty bucket while the operator latched the safety bar in place. A few onlookers who hadn’t been in the crush of admirers earlier that had been watching and cheering on Rafe’s prize winning feats did plenty of double takes watching the three sitting in one of the ride’s seats; the bucket rising and stopping as riders were unloaded and reloaded into the empty cars. 

This could never be compared with looking down from an aircraft thousands of feet in the air preparing to jump while the car was stopped at the ride’s circular apex. When Harry turned in his seat getting Rafe to face him and then pulled the younger man’s head down to kiss him hard on the mouth with Harry’s tongue pressing against Rafe’s lips begging for entrance, the once Army Ranger thought: _**no** , it would never compare, this was so much more thrilling_. As the ride began its continuous circles, Rafe and Harry would separate for a brief moment when their car would reach its summit in the rotation to look out together at the city’s skyline before locking their lips in another set of passionate kisses.

Of course two men and a giant teddy bear were kind of hard to miss, and none did a harder double take than her date when Sherry shouted, “Hi!” waving with one hand while grabbing her date’s arm with the other, “There’s Rafe!” Detective Fusco nearly choked on his bite of Italian Sausage when he saw who Rafe was engaged with in a serious game of tonsil hockey.

While Sherry smacked him on his back, Fusco managed to sputter and spew out, “THAT’S RAFE’S YOUNG MAN?” When Sherry’s boss had said young man, Lionel had expected to see a, well, a young man. Not someone many years Rafe’s senior and certainly not Glasses. Sherry just laughed when she was sure Fusco wasn’t going to choke to death, “That’s just my uncle. Any man not his age or older is a _young man_. That’s Rafe’s sweet little geek. Aren’t they adorable?”

Lionel shook his head, “Yeah adorable.” Fusco thought to himself about some fine detective he made. Sherry had gone on more than once about her friend Rafe’s boyfriend, a cute little guy who looked like a nerdy college professor. _Who else could that be but Finch?_

Sherry grabbed Fusco pulling him out of the line with her to go meet the two men at the ride’s exit. Even though Rafe had told him about Fusco being in on stopping the robbery attempt at the diner and his friend Sherry had taken a liking to the burly detective, Rafe could tell Harry was more than a bit uncomfortable seeing them in person.

Rafe believed the reason for the man’s unease was that Harry was thinking the way Rafe had when Sherry mentioned their double dating, that it was too dangerous to be seen in public with the detective. When Sherry went on and on about how fast and hard the two men had fallen for each other, Rafe fawned all over Harry kissing him full on the lips in front of Fusco.

Rafe grinned happily staring into Harry’s eyes, “Yes. It was love at first sight.” One gay man kissing another who was carrying a giant teddy bear would hardly allow Samaritan to target who they used to be. Even standing next to Fusco: no way was there footage to compare.

Rafe suggested they go buy something cold to drink for their dates asking Fusco to join him. When they were far enough away, Rafe pulled Fusco behind a concession stand. When he was sure they couldn’t be seen or heard, John told Fusco that Harold and he had more or less retired. Shaw and Samantha Groves might need the detective’s help though and John asked Lionel to give it to them as a favor to Harold and him.

John nodded yes when Fusco blurted out, “You want me to help _Cuckoo’s Nest_?” Lionel shook his head, and then looked up at John, reluctantly saying, “Yeah sure, as a favor **for** Glasses.”

While Harry and Sherry waited on their dates to return, they made small talk. Harry thanked Rafe’s friend for being so kind and generous with offering Rafe the use of her car and her family’s vacation cottage the Sunday before. Sherry apologized for her being such a bitch the day they first met. Sherry thought it was cute but kind of strange the way Harry kept hugging the stuffed bear in front of him.

When Detective Fusco and Rafe returned, Sherry suggested that the two couples spend some time together. Rafe was about to say yes, he really wasn’t ready to go just yet and truth be told John loved finally being able to be free to show any and everyone how madly in love he was with Harold.

Only Harry apologized before Rafe could say yes, “I am sorry, I would love to spend some time with the two of you. Rafe and I have been here for hours and I really am quite exhausted. Perhaps another day we could meet for dinner?”

Everyone was free the following Monday night; arrangements were made to meet at Perry's that night at seven pm and the couples parted. Sherry and Fusco returned back to the line for their turn on the Ferris wheel. Fusco hadn’t won his date a giant plushy, at least not yet, but he sure hoped to prove he was as good a kisser as Rafe.

Rafe had to squeeze Harold the Bear into the back of the Taurus; the stuffed animals were already piled too high almost blocking the rear view mirror. Once the two men were settled in the front, Rafe tilted his head a bit and laid a hand on Harry’s right shoulder, “I know you weren’t all that tired, did it bother you to be seen near Fusco? I don’t think Samaritan is targeting kissing and hand holding.”

Harry swallowed, “No. No it’s not that. I mean about being seen near Fusco. What I found quite unsettling is my reaction to all the kissing.” When Rafe frowned, Harry grabbed Rafe’s hand from his shoulder and laid it across his own lap for him to feel the erection that hadn’t softened since their Ferris wheel ride and certainly not after Rafe’s possessive kiss in front of their friends.

Rafe threw his head back and laughed in relief, “I thought…never mind what I thought.” Rafe squeezed the bulge in Harry’s slacks, “I suppose we better head home, you are…exhausted!”

A happy and contented couple drove up to Harry’s brownstone, Harry pulling the car into his parking space. Rafe helped haul the menagerie of plushies into the building. Jack met them at the door. Harry tried to sidestep the bouncing dog as he admonished, “These are not for you. No chewing.”

Rafe laughed and asked Jack to heel. The furry trio passed by Martha’s open door. The lady of the house was leaning against the door frame smiling indulgently. “Looks like you have a talented beau there, Harry.”

Harry blushed and dipped his red face to burrow into the side of a pink elephant. Rafe puffed his chest out in pride. He took a large stuffed unicorn with a flowing mane up to Martha’s hand and bowed, “For the fair maiden, a gallant steed.”

Martha took the toy into her arms and curtsied. “Thank you Sir Knight! I shall treasure him.”

Rafe nodded, “We are grateful to the maiden for caring for our impressive hound. We shall take the mighty canine to our castle where he will guard his masters as they sleep.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you. I’d like to see you for breakfast around eight, if that is alright?”

Martha nodded then said her goodnights. Harry waved the snake at her and called out a good night and a thank you.  The three took the stairs quickly. Harry had trouble getting his keys with his arms full holding onto a giant teddy, a silly cross-eyed snake, and one pink elephant. Rafe tried to fish them out of Harry’s pocket for him by reaching into the one covering Harry’s now semi-flaccid penis. Rafe rubbed it innocently, pulled out the key ring, and teased, “Here they are! I really do need to get you inside, before you wilt completely.

Once inside, the dog went for his water bowl but the humans went to find a tall shelf for the newly acquired zoo. When all the prizes were safe, Harry suggested they shower off the fair grease then have some hot chocolate. Rafe sidled up to take Harry’s hips into his hands. He shimmied his own hips against Harry’s as he lowered his mouth to nibble on Harry's right ear. Their stubble scratched invitingly as they nuzzled. Rafe whispered low and gravelly into that ear, “A shower would be great. But we need to save water. The future depends on our conservation.”

Harry pulled back to look at Rafe. “I would love to get clean but would it be safe?”

Rafe began to unbutton Harry’s shirt revealing grey and brown chest hair. The sight made Rafe bite his bottom lip. Distracted by the view he almost didn’t hear the question. He looked up abruptly, “Of course. You know I would never let you fall.”

Harry understood that they were talking about more than a slippery floor. He trusted Rafe with his heart already, might as well trust him with the whole body. “Of course I know that. I would love to shower with you.”

Rafe smiled, pulling off Harry’s shirt and tossing it onto a chair. After unbuckling Harry’s belt Rafe let the older man use his arms for balance as Harry slipped off his shoes. Bending to one knee, Rafe slid Harry’s slacks and boxers down the other man’s hips as he knelt. Harry’s hands had moved up to rest lightly on Rafe’s back using it now to steady himself as the kneeling man helped him remove the rest of his clothes.

As Rafe stood to look upon Harry’s now nude body and tried to pull him close, Harry held him back with the palms of his hands spread over Rafe’s chest. Harry moved his palms downward over Rafe’s abdomen across to his sides, where Harry pulled up at the hem of Rafe’s pullover. Harry’s lust filled eyes let his lover see he needed to see Rafe’s body just as much. Rafe pulled the shirt up and off before removing his own shoes, socks, jeans, and briefs in one fluid movement.

Fighting the temptation to just pull Harry into the bedroom not the bath, Rafe moved them both down the short hall. Both of them kissed and groped the other on their way into the small room. They only paused long enough for Rafe to turn on the shower’s faucets and adjust the water’s temperature, before Rafe allowed Harry to step into the shower first. The shower wasn’t large but definitely bigger than his and roomy enough for the two of them to move around without banging an elbow or shin on metal or tile.

They kissed and rubbed each other under the warm water. Rafe lathered his hands and traced the faint scars on Harry’s neck, down past the still pinkish starburst shaped scar under his right shoulder blade to the mottled scars of the bad hip.

Rafe memorized them as he massaged the muscles. Finally Rafe reached that full ass. Both of Rafe’s long, massive hands were needed to encompass the whole expanse. Harry’s bottom filled Rafe’s palms perfectly. Rafe felt as if he could effortlessly lift Harry into his arms just by holding his ass. He wouldn’t in the shower but that feeling of being capable of holding and caring for Harry, of being powerful enough to remove Harry from danger, to bring him to a safe place was energizing. Rafe would be able to save Harry if things went bad, Rafe would be there in time because they would never be separated again. The surge of protectiveness and love had Rafe hardening to his full girth. He was poking Harry in the stomach.

Harry noticed the added excitement in Rafe’s body. Harry leaned his forehead on Rafe’s chest. He looked down the sleek body to see that large shaft. Things were blurry without his glasses but he could see Rafe’s cock perfectly. It was red and plump, just starting to purple at the tip. Harry grabbed it with a firm and sure grip. Rafe lurched forward into the pressure of Harry’s fist. It felt fantastic. The heat and the water made the way easy.

Kneading the mounds of flesh in his hands in unison with his hips pumping his cock up and down into Harry’s stroking fist gave Rafe ideas. The sensation added to these new ideas overstimulated his already fevered body. It took only a few synchronized movements of the three actions before Rafe stiffened as he spilled bursts of white semen on Harry’s chest and stomach. His only ways of release had been in dreams or by his own hand and after so many months of separation, to have it be real this time with this man was overwhelming. He couldn’t hold back and deny this ecstasy.

Rafe turned Harry under the faucet’s spray to rinse the results of his passion from the other man. Harry’s cock was still hard and waiting. Turning off the water Rafe sank to his knees, the fullness now at eye level. He was no novice at giving head, but this was his first experience with someone he cherished, loved.

Rafe encircled the girth of Harry’s cock with thumb and forefinger. He moved the circle towards the sensitive ring above the cock head, barely teasing it with a whisper of touch while sticking his tongue out to lap at the fluid dripping from the reddening tip. Moving the circle he’d formed back up the shaft, Rafe followed it with his mouth until his lips touched the wiry patch of pubic hair surrounding Harry’s shaft.

When Harry moaned his pleasure and began trying to move his hips, trying to fuck into the haven of Rafe’s mouth, Rafe reached up, holding the straining thighs still with his hands. Using only his mouth, Rafe coaxed the other man’s orgasm from him by fucking Harry’s cock with his mouth, sucking and licking the sensitive head.

Harry hadn’t felt this particular pleasure in years, nearly a decade. He gasped when he felt the pressure building in his spine and tried to push Rafe off him. Rafe only sucked harder until Harry filled his mouth, crying out John's name as he came, hard. As he rode the waning wave of bliss, Harry ran his fingers rapidly through Rafe’s damp forelocks. While sucking in air to catch his breath, Harry was looking down watching through half-closed eyes with a bit of awe as Rafe swallowed down every drop of Harry’s essence and then released his softening cock to lick it clean.

Rafe stood up quickly when he felt Harry’s thighs begin to shake. They kissed lazily as they exited the shower. The physical and emotional toll of the day had both men yawning as they dried off. Rafe checked on Jack and went for a final loop around the building with him. Once the dog had emptied his bladder, Rafe took the stairs slowly as his afterglow hit. He was ready for bed. He hoped Harry wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Canine and man entered the apartment rather loudly. Louder still though was the snoring coming from the bed. It was Harry, conked out sideways on the bed. He looked like he had gotten his pants on then sat to put on his socks. Once the socks were on he must have leaned back and been out like a light.

Rafe smiled then carefully readjusted Harry so that he was on the bed correctly with his neck supported. Once Harry was situated, Rafe turned out the lights and double checked all the security features. A lock and deadbolt looked to be it. So he sent Jack to his bed. Rafe drank a glass of water then settled into bed himself. He snuggled close to Harry. Within seconds, Rafe too was asleep with a small smile on his face.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See I promised. No interruptions.
> 
>  
> 
> EN: No throats were harmed in the writing of this fic.  
> Although Harry suffered a bit of an _ice cream headache_.


	18. A Normal Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every alternate Saturday, Martha would join them for a bi-weekly breakfast and chat. It was a regimen that would have bored John Reese to tears, but Rafe Rissole was in paradise. Yes, Rafe was content and happy as a clam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was turning out to be another huge chapter.  
> So next will be more like a part 2
> 
> [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/9795.html)

 

Rafe snuggled closer into the warm body next to him trying to ignore the snuffling in his ear and at the back of his neck. When a low whimper accompanied the nails of a paw lightly scratching at the small of his back, the reluctantly awakened man twisted his torso removing his arm from Harry’s abdomen and lifted his head from the still soundly sleeping man’s chest, turning to face Jack. The dog yowled once weakly with jaws that opened and snapped shut quickly, but his ears kept twitching every which way eagerly.

The canine ignored the scowl on the bearded man’s face and wagged his tail happily. Rafe was about to scold the dog and order Jack to return to his own bed with a silent command using an outstretched arm, but seeing that furry appendage beating the air rapidly extended from a four-footed body visibly vibrating with anticipation; he instead reached out to fondle the dog’s ears. How could he be irritated with Jack? Their walks around the block or runs in the park even as sporadic as those were before the two had been separated had been man and dog’s special time together. Now that Rafe was in Harry’s life that camaraderie had been renewed; how could he chastise the dog for wanting that, even if it was still dark outside?

Using hand signals to get Jack to stay and wait, Rafe swung his legs from the bed and tip-toed into the bathroom to empty himself. Quietly re-entering the bedroom Rafe grabbed his pair of old sweats that he’d left draped over the end of the bed and motioned to Jack to follow him out into the living room.

Jack waited patiently at the entryway to the kitchen cocking his head frequently as Rafe started coffee in the recently purchased maker and pulled a few pans out of the cabinets to start breakfast when the two returned from their morning rounds.

With the season morphing gradually from the balminess of Indian summer to a crispness in the air signaling winter was indeed on its way, early mornings were quite chilly and so Rafe pulled his gray hoodie off its place on the coat rack snuggled among Harry’s outerwear.

Rafe and Jack descended the stairs and opened the brownstone’s outer door almost stealthily not wanting to disturb Martha this early in the morning. She’d meet them upstairs later on for what had become a Saturday morning ritual, the three sitting at Harry’s small kitchen table enjoying a Rafe specialty breakfast and talking about their week. After letting the door ease itself close with a barely discernible click Rafe and Jack bound down the steps and started off in a slow jog to the neighborhood park.

Surprisingly this park wasn’t one to be taken over by undesirable elements between the setting and rising of the sun. The neighborhood may be inhabited by the forgotten poor with many of their homes having fallen into disrepair, but the majority of them were honest, hard working people who as a whole hadn’t tolerated their morality to deteriorate as well. Though not huge, the park had a nice jogging path and Rafe had the company of a few early risers out for a run themselves.

There was also a fairly good sized dog run where Rafe let Jack loose. The dog had the area all to himself this time of morning, but Jack still chased or played versions of dogie games with invisible playmates while Rafe sat on a bench nearby. While he watched the canine play in the waxing light of sunrise and the changing colors of the morning sky, Rafe sat back to reflect on how much his life had changed the past three weeks.

When he had assumed his Rafe personae all those months ago he had accepted the job that came with it, excelled at it even, and the hours he worked. When he’d been left with one more reward day off—Harry was back at the school in Queens and Rafe was left at loose ends—he had risked Tom’s ire by disobeying the manager’s orders to take time off away from work by coming to the diner in order pass some time. Only Tom had greeted Rafe with a proposition instead of a lecture. The breakfast-lunch shift was Rafe’s if he wanted it.

Seemed the week of Rafe’s vacation Boris had excelled at the Midnight Prep shift. Boris asked to switch shifts permanently if Rafe was agreeable. Before, Boris only went to school when his schedule allowed. Realizing that getting out of work by seven am he could return to college full time, Boris was begging for the change.

Rafe couldn’t believe his luck. A nine to five with alternate weekends off meant Rafe could spend every evening and night with Harry. Their work schedules would match. Rafe was elated! Of course he accepted the shift switch. He thanked Boris with a triple chocolate torte the following Friday.

Harry had seemed pleased with the arrangement as well. Each evening Harry would come home to a large, handmade dinner that would scent the air of the entire brownstone. Rafe of course had a plethora of recipes in his head, dishes he could serve up reasonably sure Harry would love them, but technically Martha had known Harry longer. The woman hadn’t said a word and in fact seemed quite happy that Rafe was now looking out for her friend, but Rafe didn’t want to completely take that away from her. So on some evenings he would stop by the woman’s apartment seeking ideas for something special to prepare that Harry would love, ending up with him in Harry’s kitchen trying out one of Martha’s family recipes. These had been Harry's favorites that had him asking for seconds when he wasn't really eating. So now, with a healthy appetite restored, Harry would push away from the table moaning in pleasure and begging for Rafe to take away the plate before Harry couldn't fit into his suits anymore.

Jack, Rafe, and Harry would go for after dinner walks every night—Harry to work off some calories, Jack to do his duties either the physical or as neighborhood patrol, Rafe just to be seen as Harry’s significant other—the loving happy couple with their dog, a family of three.

Not only had the manager offered Rafe Boris’ shift, Tom had also included a huge bonus in the cook’s paycheck with which Rafe purchased an obscenely huge flat screen TV. Harry had merely lifted an eyebrow coming home that Monday to see the monstrosity hanging on the wall where his recliner used to sit, his living room rearranged and Rafe fairly ready to explode waiting to tell Harry his good news. Harry seemed more than overjoyed to find out they would be able to spend more time together, but Rafe felt somehow he had overstepped his boundaries with the TV. After dinner and two hours of watching Rafe with his new toy, Harry had yawned and told Rafe, “I’m going to bed.”

Rafe had followed him into the bedroom and stood before Harry now sitting on the bed. The other man had pulled his glasses off and was running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the TV to my place tomorrow and put your living room back to the way it was.”

Harry looked up in confusion at Rafe’s apology. “No. No! You’ll do no such thing. I can’t expect you to sit back and read books every night with me.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair again. “I just had other ideas how to spend our last evening together for a while, at least what I had thought would be.”

Rafe apologized for ruining Harry’s plans promising him any night from now on whatever Harry wanted to do, they would do it and took Jack for his last trip outside before bed. Harry was still sitting on the mattress, but had undressed while Rafe was gone. Rafe striped down to his boxers while Harry watched. He expected the older man to lie down and let him into bed, but Harry only looked up, “My evening plans aren’t totally ruined. I still want to do this; I am ready for this.” Harry reached out and positioned Rafe in front of him. Rafe’s special Monday ended with Harry giving him the most amazing blowjob Rafe Rissole, John Reese, or his dozens of other aliases through his forty some years had ever received.

Harry was seated on the bed with his neck and back straight. He simply bent at the waist and took Rafe’s boxer down to the knees. Rafe’s cock was still soft, but was quickly filling as the cool night air unexpectedly hit sensitive skin. Harry nuzzled at the warm sack, mouthing the testes with his thin lips. Rafe groaned and swayed as the sensations twitched his anus. Blood was flowing rapidly to his penis and ...

Harry opened his mouth and took the head into his hot, sleek cavern. His tongue pressed just under the head, moving back and forth. Rafe’s knees nearly buckled. To stay standing, Rafe carefully took hold of Harry’s shoulders for support. Rafe clenched his eyes shut against the pleasure as Harry engulfed his shaft as far as he could.

Rafe looked down at the sight of Harry’s small mouth stretched wide, his red lips tight around the large, veiny cock. Just as the image was about to be too much for Rafe, Harry’s eyes opened and he looked directly into Rafe’s eyes. The adoration in those bright blue pools combined with the devotion in this act of love caused a chain reaction of pleasure.

Rafe’s ass clenched, his hips thrust minutely, his chest seized, and his sight grayed out. The orgasm started in his toes and exploded around his groin, then it starburst surges of feeling in his heart. The aftershocks were intense. Harry licked him clean and returned his boxers to his waist. Weak as a kitten, Rafe was helped into bed by a slightly smug Harry. Rafe slept deep that night.

Now Rafe would watch some sports on mute on the big screen while Harry would read. Harry would lay his feet on Rafe’s lap. Rafe would massage those hard working feet and start moving up the legs. Usually within an hour both men would be necking like teenagers, baseball scores and the next chapter quickly ignored. After some couch fun that more than not ended in a good round of sex, Rafe would walk Jack for the final laps of the night. They would take a shower before getting into bed. That was their weeknight routine.

Every alternate Saturday, Martha would join them for a bi-weekly breakfast and chat. It was a regimen that would have bored John Reese to tears, but Rafe Rissole was in paradise. Yes, Rafe was content and happy as a clam.

Morning run complete, Rafe called out to Jack, “Jack! Let’s go home!”

The dog was prancing about, so excited to go back to see Harry and Martha. Rafe was excited to go home too. They started to jog back to the brownstone when it hit Rafe like a ton of brick: _he considered it home too_.

The shock of it was a little stupid since Rafe practically lived there already. The brownstone was home. Having a separate apartment at this point was a mere formality. Rafe even noticed the laundry piled in his truck. He really should get to that. Not having been to his own place for nearly a week for new clothes was taking its toll. Rafe loved his new life with Harry, but having a second apartment had become ridiculous since Rafe slept at Harry’s every night and the two lovers spent every waking moment together if they could. Rafe thought a conversation about moving in together might be in order.

Of course, like anything involving Harry, privacy , or change, Rafe was wary of how to proceed. He might need some help convincing Harry to let him move in. Rafe and Jack slipped into the brownstone and knocked on Martha’s door.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rafe moves in and makes a decision.


	19. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gestured back towards the living room then around at every change Rafe had made around this room as well. “Why do you think I allowed you keep that, that thing here? Why do you believe I let you make all these other changes? I wanted this to be your home as well; I thought you understood my invitation. I believe I assumed incorrectly. So, let me clarify this by asking you directly. Rafe, would you like to live here, with me? I dare not imagine a day without seeing your face first as I wake, last before I sleep. Please say yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end of Rafe and Harry's journey
> 
> Thanks M for the assist.
> 
> A/N: If your screen heats up, not my fault. LOL
> 
>  [Live Journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/17776.html)

Harry felt the weight lift off the mattress and didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Rafe had gotten out of the bed. Harry also didn’t have to guess to the cause for his lover to have exited the room trying to be silent and not wake him.

Jack, before Rafe had come into their lives, would stay in Harry’s office, the dog’s bedroom, waiting patiently for hours at times until he was called to be taken outside. Only when Harry had been distracted by something serious enough to forget—or yeah the mornings after Harry had self-medicated and slept in—and when the dog could wait no longer had Jack ever reminded Harry that he needed to be walked. Now, Rafe was there taking the dog for his morning runs and Jack could not wait at times for the man to even wake to get Rafe up and out of the house.

Harry didn’t mind. The bond between the man and dog was rare. Jack loved Harry and would die to protect him, would never leave him, but the connection between Rafe and Jack was unique. Jack couldn’t wait to have his special time with the man. Well Harry could hardly wait anymore for his _special times_ with the man either...so.

Harry got up to use the facilities but crawled back in bed to try and get another hour’s sleep. Rafe and Jack would jog to the park, stay awhile, before they would come back into the apartment. More than likely both would literally dog pile into the bed like they hadn’t seen Harry in months.

Yeah, Harry had at least an hour, but all Harry could do was look around the room to see Rafe’s shirt here, a stray sock there, a Guns and Ammo magazine on the nightstand. Harold would have disapproved, greatly, but Harry Furnham just turned the lamp back off, put hands behind his head, closed his eyes and sighed happily. This was almost paradise.

Harry dozed for what seemed like only minutes when he heard hushed voices coming from the kitchen. He smiled to himself. How he loved those three. They had let him sleep in. He pictured in his mind, Rafe preparing their Saturday morning meal while Martha chatted with him, and Jack lying under the table listening to them both.

He didn’t need to do more than shave but Harry opted to take a morning shower also. It was just Rafe and Martha, both having seen him at his worst, but today he felt like he wanted to primp just a bit. He left the shower smelling of the scented soap Rafe loved. After shaving and splashing on his favorite aftershave and cologne, Harry dressed in his nicest casual clothes.

He hobbled into the kitchen and stopped. Martha and Rafe were huddled together by the stove, their voices hushed so they couldn’t be heard. As soon as they noticed Harry standing near the doorway they stopped talking and bolted apart. Harry only raised a curious eyebrow not the least bit concerned that he had interrupted something he wasn’t intended to hear. He would always have his paranoia but it didn’t include Rafe or Martha. They were beyond reproach and incapable of being distrusted by Harry.

Harry moved to the table and pulled back a chair for Martha. She took the proffered seat with a thank you and a friendly smile, but other than that her expression was unreadable. Harry smiled back, still not troubled by their secrecy. Whatever they were talking about he knew that it was with his best interests at heart. This was something new for Harry to be reacting so calmly right now. All of his life, Harold had been so suspicious of others, afraid he would lose a part of himself or worse by sharing any of it. Yet, as he sat at the table laden with thick slices of brioche dipped in batter and lightly browned in butter, Harry welcomed any and all sharing with these two.

Harold Finch had always asked for his privacy, guarded it ferociously even, but Harry Furnham was overjoyed by the companionship of his two best friends. Rafe’s company as his friend and lover was not only wanted, but desperately needed. Now, if there was ever a day to come that Rafe wasn’t around invading his space—that was a day Harry would not be looking forward to.

Rafe sat down with a warm pitcher of maple syrup. He smiled tightly and passed the mixed fruit and crème fraiche. Harry’s plate already held a few slices of Canadian bacon. He took two portions of French toast but added the macerated fruit and crème fraiche to the top instead of syrup as he needed to watch his sugar. Martha took the fruit and topped it with the cream as a side dish. She and Rafe preferred allowing the maple syrup to completely drench their toast.

Harry took a bite and made a show of moaning and closing his eyes in pleasure. Rafe and Martha worked so hard to feed Harry that they deserved extra praise.

Like their first Saturday morning breakfast together, each of the three had something to add to the conversation about things that had happened during the week. Martha who hadn’t met them yet, despite telling the two men over and over she would like to, was almost as excited as Harry when they heard Rafe tell them that Detective Fusco and Sherry’s relationship was getting to be quite serious.

Both Martha and Rafe wished Harry the best of luck when he explained that his substitute teaching position at the school in Queens may become permanent; protocol dictated that the position be posted. If no one with seniority wanted it, which seemed highly likely to be the case, the position was Furnham’s.

Martha was happy to share little tidbits about her family, about those her friends had met and relations they only knew by name that now lived far away. One of her grandsons, Mike, who now lived in Oregon, and his wife were expecting. Both Harry and Rafe congratulated her and good naturedly teased her about being a great-grandmother. Harry could never picture Martha as the kindly yet frail grandmotherly type which is why what happened next was so strange.

As if on some predetermined cue Martha swallowed a sip of her coffee, set the cup down, and with a trembling, shaky voice worthy of any terrified elderly woman looked at Harry, “Did you hear about the Fergusons? Their window was broken in an attempted night-time burglary. Thank goodness the would-be thief was scared away by their upstairs neighbor, a big burly bouncer that works at a nightclub who had just come home from work and heard the noise.”

Martha reached across the table and patted Rafe’s arm. “I would feel so much safer at night knowing that you would always be right upstairs.” All Harry could do was trying not to stare at this strange woman inhabiting Martha’s body. The Martha he knew would send any two-bit cat burglar screaming from her apartment, Martha hot on their heels with an aluminum baseball bat in her hand.

Harry paused in lifting his cup to take a sip of his tea to watch Rafe cover Martha’s hand, the one that was now holding onto Rafe’s right sleeve like her life depended on him, within his huge left palm while comforting the distraught woman in his best ‘awe shucks ma'am’ modest hero voice, “I am no big burly bouncer, but I would consider it my duty as a man to make sure you feel safe.”

Harry had a hard time not shaking his head in disbelief when Jack popped up at Martha's side doing his canine version of ‘ _I’ll protect you too_.’ Martha pulled her hand from under Rafe’s, patted the dog between the ears, then clutched Jack’s head with both hands and cooed, “Oh, such a good boy you are.”

Martha appeared pensive before she looked Harry’s way. “Jacob has left for Stanford and will only be home now for holidays. Who’s going to take Jack for his runs in the park?”

Harry was about to remind Martha that Jacob had left almost a month ago just about the time Rafe had all but moved into the apartment. Those runs in the park were now a daily ritual between Jack and Rafe. _Ah I think I see what is going on here_. Instead, Harry excused himself and got up from the table, “Rafe may I speak with you, privately?” Before he turned to follow Rafe out of the kitchen, Harry bent to kiss Martha on the forehead, “Thank you.”

When the two were alone in the bedroom, Harry began by saying, “I think we have some kind of misunderstanding here. I thought you knew that I wanted you here, permanently.”

Harry gestured back towards the living room then around at every change Rafe had made around this room as well. “Why do you think I allowed you keep that, that thing here? Why do you believe I let you make all these other changes? I wanted this to be your home as well; I thought you understood my invitation. I believe I assumed incorrectly. So, let me clarify this by asking you directly. Rafe, would you like to live here, with me? I dare not imagine a day without seeing your face first as I wake, last before I sleep. Please say yes?”

Rafe grinned sheepishly. “Seems we both assumed incorrectly. Even with all that has happened between you and I, even with seeing for my own eyes how so very different you are, I still thought of you as Harold, a man who was private, paranoid, never inclined to give away even the least little bit of himself, let alone share his life and home.” Rafe reached out and pulled Harry into his embrace. “Yes.”

When the two men pulled out of the hug, Rafe grabbed Harry’s hand leading him out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. “No time like the present. Looks like it’s moving day. Let’s tell Martha the good news!”

Martha offered to watch Jack for the rest of the day and then the two left, Martha to her apartment and Rafe to gather the rest of his personal belongings.

Harry had insisted Rafe have the closet space in their bedroom, so while Rafe was away Harry kept busy moving his suits to the office's closet. Harry had to laugh at himself. _No Rafe, I haven’t completely changed_. The real Harry Furnham’s wardrobe wasn’t quite his style and throughout the past months the new Furnham had added clothing more to his tastes, a lot of clothing. Seems the quality of the suits and shoes had dropped, but not the quantity. Harry was just as much of a clotheshorse as Harold.

Rafe wasn’t gone long. It only took one trip to bring the rest of his belongings to the brownstone. His apartment was rented furnished so the furniture and most of the decorations stayed with the place. He rarely prepared food there at the apartment, eating out at various restaurants with Sherry or at the diner before and after his shift, but what cookware he had purchased had already migrated over to Harry’s place during the last three weeks.

So after not even an hour Rafe was on his way back. The few clothes he still had left at his old place, a couple of boxes, and a shaving kit—containing shampoo, a spare toothbrush, and other toiletries—that hadn’t joined the pots and pans migration to Harry’s barely filled the passenger side of the pickup’s cab.

The shaving kit and the two boxes he brought up first. The larger box containing his underclothes Rafe dropped on the floor next to the bureau, the smaller of the boxes he set down on the mattress, and the kit he stashed in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. He went to peek in on Harry who was busy fussing with his clothes arranging them just so in the office closet. Harry nodded briefly in return to Rafe’s hello then went back to his nitpicking. Deciding to just go unpack and put his own items away Rafe returned to the bedroom.

The box on the mattress contained Rafe’s own table side items: aspirin, nail clippers, tissue box, discrete rag for lonely nights, and of course a Derringer pistol. He pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand that was supposed to be his now and found books, piles and piles of books. Rafe smiled indulgently.  He gathered them up and went in search of their proper places on the shelves in the living room. Over the years, John Reese had learned Harold Finch’s sorting preferences for books. Harry Furnham used the same system. So, Rafe just had to find their correct shelf.

Task complete, Rafe placed his gun in the bottom drawer underneath his ragged towel behind the box of tissues then pulled open the top drawer. What he found gave him pause. Beside a few wrapped condoms was an unopened tube of personal lubricant, its seal still intact, and the _use by date_ for the contents had to mean this was a recent purchase.

Rafe started almost guiltily when Harry entered their bedroom, his task to get _his_ closet arranged just so apparently completed. Rafe hastily began emptying the rest of the smaller box’s contents into the drawer. He pretended to not have noticed the items that Harry had seemed to have forgotten were in there, not unlike the books in the other drawer. Only Rafe could tell by the expectant look Harry gave him that Harry indeed had not forgotten about those items, was actually waiting for Rafe to mention them.

Rafe pointed at the box next to the bureau, “My underclothes and socks are in there. Where can I put them?”

Rafe wasn’t sure if it was disappointment that flitted momentarily in Harry’s eyes because he covered his reaction up quickly before hobbling over to the bureau. “I only require use of the mirror and some space on the dresser’s top. The rest of it along with all the drawers are yours to use however you wish.” Harry made to leave the room, “I’ll get out of your way. I’m going to prepare an early lunch and something cold to drink. When you are finished here you may join me in the kitchen before you bring the rest of your belongings up from your truck.”

With that Harry left the room. Rafe felt like kicking himself. In his own awkward way Harry had let Rafe know he was ready. On the drive home from their picnic they had discussed intercourse. Rafe wanted it more than anything with Harry. Of course for Rafe there had been bad experiences, but with caring gentle partners he had found pleasure in the act and to share that with someone he loved and cherished.

Harry had that level of intimacy with his few partners; had always found pleasure in both giving and receiving, but that was before... Rafe had assured Harry that he could wait until the time was right for the both of them and if that time never came; Rafe would love Harry regardless.

Only that time had come. Harry had already given Rafe so much—a home, companionship, love—now this and Rafe had acted the fool. Instead of sharing his concerns with Harry about whether this was something Harry wanted for himself not just to please Rafe, Rafe had said nothing. He had to fix this, now!

Rafe stood in the kitchen doorway; Harry was standing at the sink staring vacantly out the window. Rafe moved to stand behind the smaller man, slid his arms around Harry’s waist and kissed the top of his head before resting his chin there, “I handled that badly. I’m sorry.”

Harry turned in Rafe’s embrace to smile up at the taller man. “There is no reason for you to feel that way. I am the one at fault. I should have been more forthcoming. Old habits die hard.” Harry pecked Rafe on the lips before he asked, “How about some lunch?”

Rafe bent his head to kiss Harry properly and then pulled back. “No, lunch can wait. The rest can wait. You and I need to talk.” Rafe led Harry back into the bedroom and asked if they could lie together on the bed.

When Harry was comfortable on his back, Rafe stretched out next to him, resting his head close to Harry’s on the pillow, while running comforting circles across Harry’s chest. “I should have said something, anything when I found the supplies. You know how much I want this, but for both of us not just not me. I don’t know why I panicked with the thought I was pushing you into this. Even last night I felt you tense up when you thought I was going to touch you there. I was wrong again, wasn’t I?”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, “We really need to work more on our communication skills.” He then stopped Rafe’s hand, pulling it to his lips, kissing each finger one by one. “I am nervous of course—it has been so long—that I might disappoint you because of that, not because I don’t want you. What I want is to make you happy, bring you pleasure, and live with you as your partner. If one of the ways you are given pleasure is by taking me sexually then I would cherish the act.”

Rafe moved up and over Harry looking into his partner’s eyes before kissing him deeply. “Thank you,” Rafe whispered as he nuzzled Harry’s neck. Between reassuring kisses Rafe slowly stripped them both until they were lying naked together. Rafe then removed Harry’s glasses and placed them on the nightstand. He reached into the drawer to remove the lubricant and a condom packet.

Rafe needed to be sure, even now looking for any signs that Harry might want him to stop. Harry whispered, “I’m fine. Please keep going.”

Hearing those words from Harry spurred him on. Rafe moved down to place a pillow under his lover’s hips, spread Harry’s thighs carefully for easier access to Harry’s opening. Rafe removed the seal, flipped the cap open, and coated one finger with the lubricant before he inserted the tip of his forefinger into the pink crevice.

With his free hand, Rafe alternated between tweaking each of Harry's nipples between thumb and forefinger or brushing a palm down Harry’s chest and abdomen to stroke Harry’s cock or fondly caress his balls. Stimulating Harry’s own pleasure that way allowed Harry to relax while Rafe inserted more of his finger to find and massage Harry’s prostate.

Every time he inserted another finger coated with more lube, Rafe would check Harry for any signs of extreme discomfort, but his lover was only moaning in ecstasy not pain. Slowly, carefully Rafe would spread his fingers stretching Harry’s opening while stimulating Harry’s pleasure points simultaneously. Rafe was patient enough to wait, performing the preparations until Rafe thought Harry was ready to receive his width. But it was Harry who fairly screamed, “I’m ready, please fuck me now.”

Rafe’s own excitement was so ramped up by now he fumbled nervously sliding the condom over himself. He had to pinch the head of his cock to bring a bit of pain. Rafe had to take this slow, not jam himself in with one thrust. He held his shaft and pushed into Harry’s opening.

The euphoria of pleasure was only surpassed by Rafe’s desire to watch Harry for any discomfort. Once Harry’s face cleared of any pain, Rafe edged in a few inches. Rafe kissed Harry at the corner of his mouth, then each eyelid. Harry’s body relaxed completely, Rafe felt the change.

Rafe plunged in all the way, bottoming out. Rafe continued to touch and kiss Harry in gratitude and love. Slowly Rafe moved out of the clenching channel til only the head was left in. Gradually Rafe thrust back in all the way. After three passes it was clear that adequate lube had been used and that Harry was not hurting.

With nothing stopping them now, Rafe began to speed up his thrusts. His right hand was under Harry’s shoulder to ground them both. His left hand was grabbing Harry’s ass to steady his thrusts. Soon the sensations built to a mating rut.

Rafe pulled both hands out from under Harry to lay his palms near Harry’s neck. Rafe was now supported by his arms to give him more leverage in each fucking stroke. Harry had one hand behind the knee of his bad leg, bringing it closer to his chest. This gave Rafe a deeper penetrating thrust. Harry’s other hand was pulling and squeezing his own cock.

The bed squeaked and bounced as the two lovers began to synchronize their thrusts. The air was ripe with sweat and pheromones. Heavy breathing and gasping love declarations were all that could be heard over the thump-thump-thump of the bed frame. The mattress bowed in the center where hips collided in animalistic fervor.

Harry groaned deep in his chest and his face contorted. Cries of satisfaction were choppy and ragged, but growing in volume. Finally, Harry wailed his release. Rafe bounced them so hard it modulated Harry’s cries to their tune.

Once Harry sighed in his completion, signaling his defeat to the little death Rafe sped up. His fists balled up at Harry’s ears. Impossibly, the mattress was nearly vibrating off the frame as Rafe grunted in lower and lower pitches. His neck corded and he bared his clenched teeth. An agonized moan left his throat followed by a stiffening of his whole body. After two small aftershock inducing thrusts, Rafe pulled out and rolled to the side, gasping for air.

Both men lay there coming down from their orgasmic highs. When he could breath without having to suck in air, Rafe removed the condom and tossed it in the trash. The sounds Harry had made while Rafe had pounded into him were not of pain, but Rafe leaned over Harry, checking him over to make sure his aggressiveness hadn’t harmed the other man.

Harry returned Rafe’s look of concern with one of satisfied bliss. “I’m fine; matter-of-fact I’m more than fine. I love you.”

Rafe grabbed Harry’s hand, the left with the gold wedding band, kissed the finger and the ring. “I love you too. When will you wear my ring?”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next a happily ever after for the boys.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a battle going on somewhere in the world but as the two men kissed their only worry was the coming winter and a roof in need of repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the last chapter, enjoy.  
> Lassiter is the fictitious town Harold Finch is from.
> 
>  Live Journal

 

In the ensuing silence Rafe waited expectantly for an affirmative answer. When Harry said nothing, Rafe told his partner that he was going to get cleaned up, excused himself and slipped into the bathroom to hide his plummeting hopes. He thought for sure after what they shared already this morning with the moving in, Harry’s declaration he couldn’t fathom a life without Rafe in it, then their becoming one in the most intimate way of all, that Harry would say yes.

When Rafe returned from the bath with a cloth to help Harry clean up, the other man had scooted himself up and was partially reclined on his mound of pillows. Harry gave Rafe one of those half smiles that would make Rafe's heart melt every time. As Harry allowed Rafe’s gentle ministrations cleaning the remnants of their lovemaking from Harry’s abdomen, how could Rafe not feel Harry had given more of himself to Rafe than anyone ever before. _I know he loves me, ring or not._

When Rafe made to return to the bath, Harry grabbed at his arm pulling him back down to sit. “My silence was not a 'no'. I was just taken aback. I never dreamt in a million years you would actually want to be legally tied to this old battered relic. I had hoped but never thought it possible.”

Harry held the hand up with the ring on it. “This ring is yours. Well not yours literally, I mean symbolically. I put it on the first day I became Harrington Furnham, III. Harry loved his Eric and they were life partners. When I put on Harrington’s ring, I was assuming his life, a man still deeply in love with his lost love. Only my life’s partner and lost love was you, John. In my heart I was married to you. We still have things to work out though as Rafe and Harry, but when the time is right the answer is, yes.”

Rafe started raining kisses all over Harry’s face, laughing in relief and talking excitedly, “Not want you? I have wanted you since that day we sat on that bench overlooking the river.”

Rafe paused and looked Harry deeply into the other man’s pale blue eyes, “Battered? No, you are battle worn, we both are, and our fight is over.” Rafe bent his head to nuzzle at the scar under Harry’s shoulder then kissed it and raised his head, “I love and belong to the bravest man I’ve ever met. I am going to spend the rest of my life whatever we do, wherever we go proving that to you.”

***

_One year later_

The weather had turned cool and rainy by mid-September, the first weeks of the month New York City's sky was dark and ominous with a constant drizzle falling almost hourly from the gloomy gray. That morning, however, the clouds had broken free and scuttled across the sky on their way eastward. The late afternoon was cool but bright and clear, the sun shining down comfortably on the group of people sitting in white wooden chairs facing the river.

The group was small but everyone there loved the two men saying their vows under an arbor of latticed white covered with flowers of every shape and shade of blue or white woven into a garland of green.  Sherry stood to Rafe’s right as his best friend and Martha on Harry’s left as his.

Lionel Fusco sat in the front row and was more than a bit misty eyed as he listened to his two friends declaring to one and all their undying love for each other. _Who would have thought Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly would have to stop speaking every few words because he is too choked up to continue_. He then looked at his fiancé standing next to Rafe. _I’ll probably end up a blubbering fool when we say our own I dos_.

Everyone applauded when Rafe pulled Harry into a tight embrace, thoroughly kissing him the moment the justice of the peace finished declaring, “I now pronounce you partners for life.”

The wedding celebration was held at the diner; Tom paid for and catered the entire affair for his former employee. He had offered Rafe part ownership and a full time manager position, but Rafe had turned both down. Harry had dipped into the insurance money to pay for Rafe’s business classes at the local community college and enrollment in the _Institute of Culinary Education_. Rafe had given his notice staying only long enough to train his replacement thoroughly. Even though Tom had tried everything he could think of to get Rafe to stay, he had in the end wished all the best to his former cook.

The newlyweds sat at their table of honor eating the fabulous fare and sipping champagne listening to toasts to their future from their friends. When it came time to cut the cake, Harry gave his new husband the traditional bite, smiling happily. Only when it was Rafe’s turn to do the same he purposely, accidentally covered Harry’s mouth with blue icing. Everyone hooted and Harry blushed furiously when Rafe made a show of kissing and licking the frosting away.

When the lights were turned down low Rafe pulled Harry into a small area of the diner that had been cleared for their first dance as a married couple. Anyone thinking the choice of the song, _Bella Notte_ , for their wedding dance was a bit odd, quickly changed that notion seeing the happy couple lost in their own world. Their dance was merely a small shuffling of feet, holding one another tightly arms around the other’s waist, eyes closed with Rafe’s chin resting on the top of Harry’s spiky hair.

The first dance over, they coupled up with their respective _best men_ when the music started again, changing mid-song to dance with the other’s partner. When the music finished Rafe grabbed Harry’s hand with his right, tugging him towards the exit, waving to everyone with his left. A few of the guests near the door held the two up long enough so the rest of the well-wishers could shower the couple with blue and white colored confetti as they made their way to a waiting limo _, a rental of course._

A stretch limo pulling up in front of an older brownstone might have lifted a few eyebrows and caused tongues to wag, but everyone in the neighborhood was aware of Rafe and Harry’s marriage. There were a few of their nearest neighbors who stood out on their own porches who called out or whistled their approval when Rafe picked up a protesting Harry and carried him up their steps and into their brownstone. Thankfully good sense prevailed and Rafe set Harry down again so they could both take the longer stairway up to the apartment each on their own feet.

Once inside Rafe pulled Harry back into a tight embrace kissing him passionately while maneuvering them both towards the couch, but Harry baulked at settling on it, instead taking command of their movements pushing Rafe towards the bedroom.

There were only a few steps from that doorway to the bed, yet in that short distance they had divested each other of everything, Tuxedo jackets, shirts, shoes, slacks, socks, underwear, all tossed about the room.

When both were laying on the bed the explorations of sight and touch of each other’s bodies was as if the discoveries they made were something new, even though they had touched one another in the most intimate places except….

Rafe kissed and nibbled his way over to Harry’s ear before whispering in it, “I need you to touch me now, I want you in me.” Before Harry had a chance to pull away and voice his worries that he might not be able to satisfy Rafe in that way because of his hip, Rafe kissed them away, “I just need you to prepare me; I’ll take care of the rest.” Rafe reached into the bedside drawer, pulled out the supplies, handed Harry the bottle of lubricant and lay flat on his stomach.

Harry turned onto his good side and his fears disappeared as he squeezed a drop of lubricant on his forefinger. _This I can do_. Rafe spread his legs open to give Harry better access to insert his finger to the first knuckle into Rafe’s opening. With gentleness and patience, Harry stimulated Rafe’s pleasure by placing kisses on Rafe’s back or by caressing the bump of Rafe’s prostate with a his forefinger. With every moan of pleasure he heard from Rafe, Harry continued preparing Rafe for his impressive width. When Harry added a third finger to circle and stretch Rafe’s ring of muscle, Rafe moaned almost in desperation, “Enough, I’m ready!”

When Harry pulled his hands free, Rafe lifted himself up to his knees and helped Harry arrange himself to lie on his back on the mound of pillows. Rafe opened the condom packet, with hands shaky from need and want rolled the condom onto Harry’s stiff and throbbing cock. Rafe straddled Harry’s hips, waited as Harry held his cock head to Rafe’s opening then pushed himself down until he felt the head pass his ring. Harry moved his hands one on each of Rafe’s buttocks urging him to go slow, but once he felt Harry inside him he pushed himself all the way down Harry’s shaft until his ass touched Harry’s balls.

Harry’s face was red from exertion. He needed to keep still until Rafe was ready to move. The pleasure engulfing his cock was scorching hot and tighter than any vise. He clenched the mounds of ass in his hands to stave off the urge to thrust up into that bliss. The euphoria was emotional as well as physical. The idea and reality of Rafe accepting him into that last bastion of personal liberty was heady and overwhelming. They were one, two halves of a whole. There were no secrets between them.

Rafe for his part was trying to breathe and think properly with the rolling crush of emotion and gratification that swamped him. Despite their many conversations on the matter, Rafe had still harbored the idea that this act would be for Harry alone and Rafe would just be enduring it. He had never been more wrong in his life.

As Rafe lifted himself up, the glide of Harry’s shaft against newly awakened nerves brought an intoxicating buzz. Rafe’s ears rang and his face became pink with a deep blush of arousal. He pulled off only as far as half of Harry’s length to plunge down quickly and get that burst of extravagant pleasure from his prostate. The plump, fat head of Harry’s cock nudged the button with just the right force and heat to spring white stars to Rafe’s vision.

Their motion became frenzied after that. Harry used his hands to pull Rafe up and down as well as tracing the contracting muscles of Rafe’s chest. Harry squeezed a nipple or grabbed a breast, anything to telegraph the intense sensation and joy he was feeling.

The subsequent thrusts and bounces were a blur to Rafe’s sex addled brain. All he knew was the need and the lust. The climbing toward orgasm was more internal than Rafe ever experienced but it wasn't uncomfortable just new.

Without warning, Harry’s cock jerked inside Rafe and a rush of liquid fire filled the column that was impaling him. Rafe rocked into Harry’s orgasm and quaked all over.

Harry caught his breath and stroked Rafe’s cock furiously. The added stimulation outside himself was all it took for Rafe to spill into Harry’s hand and all over Harry’s stomach.

Rafe dismounted in a puddle of overstimulated but satisfied goo.

***

The morning sun shining brightly through the bedroom window awoke Rafe to his first day as Gianni Rafael Rissole-Furnham. He turned to hug his new husband to him but only found cool sheets and an empty pillow mound. Rafe found his boxers that Harry had stripped off Rafe’s hips last night before tossing them along with the rest of their shed clothing. He slipped them back on before leaving the empty bedroom to seek out his absent mate.

The bathroom door was open and the room was empty with no sound of running water coming from the shower. A glance into the living room revealed it was empty also. Rafe was going to head for the kitchen when the creak of the old office chair in Jack’s bedroom pulled him instead to the door at the end of the hall.

Rafe stood in the doorway for a moment to see Harry sitting at his desk dressed only in the old terry cloth robe that Harry kept hanging on the bathroom door. An image of Harold wearing a dressing gown made of some exotic material costing more than Harry’s entire wardrobe flashed briefly in Rafe’s mind. Then Jack lifted his head with a greeting woof and Harry turned the chair around to smile at the man standing at the door. The untouchable computer genius billionaire in his bespoke suits was just a memory, this man in his ratty old robe was the solid reality Rafe had longed for, his connection to the world.

Harry motioned Rafe over to the desk before turning his chair back around to shuffle more papers around. When Rafe stood next to the chair Harry handed him the deed to 125+ acres, tract 15 N/W, in Linn County, Iowa. Rafe held the document, “This is your father’s place?”

“It was Harold Carlson’s father’s farm. Now it belongs to Harrington and Gianni Furnham.” Harry then handed him the deed to a cafe located in Lassiter, Iowa. “Whenever you are ready to go **our** home awaits us.”

Harry had accepted the teaching position in Queens, but as Rafe and he had settled into their new lives Harry had opened up about who Harold had really been. Harry had confided in Rafe his life’s history including his real name, place of birth, and where he was raised.

The wistfulness in Harry’s voice talking about his father, growing up on the farm gave Rafe an idea. He was planning to open his own eating establishment when his classes were finished. Why did it have to be in the city? New York really held nothing for either of them anymore. The idea of a small town farming community appealed to Rafe. He could start his own diner there. There was too much competition in New York but Iowa would be lovely with its farmer's market and small town routines.

Once Rafe had convinced Harry this was a future he truly wanted for the two of them, Harry had enthusiastically embraced their plan to move away. He had told Rafe to concentrate on continuing his business classes and culinary training while Harry would see to the planning of their move.

Harry’s soft voice brought Rafe back to the present, “I wanted to surprise you. Consider these my wedding gifts to you.”

Rafe placed the documents back down on the desk and then turned the chair around and knelt in front of his husband, “This is the third time you have given me a home, but this is the one I’ll treasure most of all.” Rafe rubbed his hands up and down Harry’s thighs confusion written all over his face as he searched his partner’s eyes, “But your father’s farm, the cafe, how did you...where did you...?”

Harry explained that after he had left Iowa the running of the family farm by his father after twenty-five years had been taken over of by a series of managers for over the past three decades. The last and longest had lived on the farm for twenty years before retiring. Harold Carlson had been owner in absentia during that span of time. Harry had been carefully orchestrated the sale of the property through correspondence on paper only using a third party and nothing electronically, from himself to Harry Furnham. The purchase of the café was handled basically the same way. The only thing of digital record was the transfer of funds from Harrington Furnham's insurance settlement account. “I never touched any of the money except twice; I never felt it was mine,” Harry admitted. “The real Harrington is being well cared for, wherever he is, and I now believe that money was meant for me, for us.”

Rafe stood pulling Harry up out of the chair along with him. He slid his arms under the robe to caress the warm skin covering Harry’s sides and then kissed him, whispering against those lips, “Thank you.”

The combination congratulations/going away party a month later turned bittersweet saying goodbye to dear friends. Rafe had graduated with honors from the culinary school. Tom had thrown the party in one last gasp try to lure Rafe back to the diner, but when Rafe and Harry had announced they were moving to Iowa and Rafe was the new owner of the Goldenrod Cafe in Lassiter, everyone wished them well, Tom the most enthusiastic of the well-wishers.

***

_Lassiter Iowa_

 It was a hot late summer evening, the sounds of locusts buzzing as they shed the discarded husks of their summer home echoed from tree to tree. The two men sat on the porch swing sipping iced green tea watching their Malinois chase the fireflies fluttering in the waning light before it succumbed to the veil of descending darkness.

The corn stalks in the fields surrounding the house were tall and green, just beginning to turn brown as the fall harvest neared. The local agricultural college had out done the previous summer; word was the experimental plantings this year were projected to far surpass last year’s yields exponentially. The Furnhams had donated the use of the farm's acreage to the state run college in exchange for breaks on land taxes.

Rafe put his arm across the shoulders of his husband of two years. He rubbed Harry’s shoulder familiarly before asking, “So, you’re full time now at Lassiter Senior High?” Harry had started out in the same way as he had in NYC by taking substitute assignments not only in the Linn County school district but neighboring communities as well. When Lassiter High School’s math teacher of several decades retired, Harry had been offered and accepted the position. His meeting earlier that afternoon had been mere formality. Harold never dreamed he’d ever return to his alma mater as faculty.

“Yes, but it seems that we have more of a reason to celebrate other than my new job. Why didn’t you tell me Lassiter’s business bureau is giving you an award for The Machine’s contribution to the business community?”

The Machine, Rafe’s cafe, was the best place in town for coffee. He catered to the farm community by opening around 5am or earlier. The farmers in the area congregated almost daily there to discuss just about everything farming related. Although the interstate passed by Lassiter's outskirts a half-mile away, the sight of huge green farming equipment, one in the form of a harvester three stories high pulled customers in. Of course, some people ate at the cafe then left Lassiter to continue on in their travels, but many stayed to peruse the small shops on the town’s main street.

Rafe uttered a small oath half in jest, “I wanted to surprise you.”

Harry patted Rafe on the knee, laughing, “Well it was a surprise alright. We should celebrate. How about we go to dinner and a movie in Des Moines this weekend?”

Rafe nodded, “Sunday evening is fine, but I’m planning to work on the roof the rest of this week.”

Harry tsked, “You are taking on too much. How do you plan on redoing an entire roof by yourself and run a restaurant?”

“Well, being owner and manager does have its perks. I gave everyone the week off with pay. Lassiter can survive the week with The Machine being closed for a few days. Our roof won't survive another winter.”

Harold settled in next to his beloved, the men watching Bear continue to nip and jump at the elusive fireflies, with the old wooden swing rocking them both. John sighed, “I think somehow we both ended up dead Harold, because this must be heaven.”

There was a battle going on somewhere in the world but as the two men kissed their only worry was the coming winter and a roof in need of repair.

_Finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to all who stuck with me to the end.  
> Give a shout out if I made it worth your while.
> 
> I am giving credit to Rafe's cafe being called The Machine to another author.  
> John Reese worked at a cafe called The Machine.
> 
> I know deeds are more legally detailed,  
> the Furnham farm occupies the northwest corner of Linn county,  
> the farm's outer acreages border the town of Lassiter.  
> The farmhouse though sits down a long gravel drive a half mile off the main road,  
> If you want to picture it. Five miles from Lassiter, a million miles from Samaritan's prying eyes.


End file.
